


Be One Traveler

by perryvic, Zaganthi (Caffiends)



Category: X-Men (Comicverse)
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-08
Updated: 2011-12-08
Packaged: 2017-10-27 02:14:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 78,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/290533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/perryvic/pseuds/perryvic, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caffiends/pseuds/Zaganthi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Should he go to Erik tonight? With Moira so close by? That was courting danger. He should go to Moira, because that was what he should do, logic, common sense, instincts pushed him that way. But something thin and persistent pulled him the other way. A whisper that he would regret turning left in the corridor rather than right.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Be One Traveler

**Author's Note:**

> I have two co-authors who humor me when I want to write the same story twice; Another version of [The World Outside Was Hungry](http://archiveofourown.org/works/215461).

He never wanted to leave Oxford.

Oh, one day he'd have to. Everyone had to leave it, unless you actually lived there, or taught there. But the intelligence of the place, the high-mindedness, sometimes made his head sing with joy. There were times, of course, where he wished nothing at all sang in his head, but that... that was what drinking after a long week of lectures and labs was for. The shame of it was that there were people in the pub with him, but he suspected that drinking by himself in his dorm room would be too much like mirroring his mother for his own comfort.

The Eagle and Child was not on his usual round of drinking venues because its affiliation with St John's college meant there were a lot of aspiring medical students and lawyers using it, but it had a good reputation. Those of a philosophical and literary bent often mingled and no one would be rude enough to question him on his presence there.

Bother him on the other hand, well... he took a chance there. He'd become accustomed to noticing attention on him and there was one fellow who was watching him closely.

He could do with a little drunk bothering. The lighting was hard and odd in places, but it was a... cosy public house, and popular. Cosy apparently invited stares at a young bald man, comfort mistaken for allowed familiarity. The man -- boy, really, boy, like Charles, except he was willing to wager not a pending professional like Charles -- had pale, pale blond hair, perhaps white, shoulders tight, head dipped down a little as he twisted a little to peer at Charles. He was a classically handsome, keen blue eyes, still wearing his coat despite the furnace of warmth that reached into the centre of the place.

If there hadn't just been a war that had put the term out of favour, Charles would've said he was a very Aryan looking fellow. He was certainly giving Charles a very Aryan hard stare. It was interesting in itself and it was hard to stop himself from automatically reaching out to mind-touch the other man. He was quite insular in his thoughts, not broadcasting the usual thoughts of problem solving and sex that seemed to surround people in Oxford.

Perhaps he should give some sort of signal back, so he gave a slow easy smile back at the other man, just when he knew he was going to be looking. Perhaps he wasn't thinking at all, and Charles would take silence ahead of mumbling stream of consciousness and spikes of sexual thoughts about women he'd never met. Women he didn't think he could meet without turning shades of brilliant red after some of the things that had been thought about them. The fellow cocked an eyebrow at Charles, and that was admission enough, he supposed. He was interesting at least and Charles had enough of dry texts and lectures to want to try some one on one interaction. He got up and wandered over, mentally nudging his way through the crowd in a way that got people to naturally shift position as he walk past them.

"Charles Xavier," he introduced himself. "I thought someone was paying attention to my small corner."

"I was." Oh, well. That was very blunt, and very impressive, so he settled down in the empty chair to the man's left. "I was trying to gauge if you had shaved your hair for fashion or for practicality, and now I see it was for neither." Coming from someone whose hair was wild and thick looking, that stung a bit. Though, closer up, it was definitely silvery white, with a few specks of dark left in it here and there.

"Mm, well, I am afraid I am not that fashion conscious," Charles answered. "It does tend to make me somewhat noticeable. But then, you have your own interesting look."

A bit shabby, now that he was close to the fellow, which... was standard, Charles supposed, and yet. Oxford, where the rules did not completely apply except for those honest enough or poor enough to abide by them. Either his silent minded companion was honest, or poor, which made for a quick analysis of him if Charles wished to push it further. "Oh yes?"

"You have a surfeit of what I lack," Charles said with a half-smile with a gesture to his hair. He noted that the man had not offered his name and for someone being so interested, he was being very reserved. The temptation was growing to read the man.

It wouldn't take much effort – after all, a mind that wasn't broadcasting didn't mean it was unreadable. "I suppose I do, yes. I'm Erik." And the accent placed him on the continent, Erik without a last name. It was German in base, though he'd perhaps travelled a little, other than England. Fine looking, German Erik without a last name. Erik turned his head slightly, and gestured to the bartender, two fingers in the air briefly.

Charles was confident he could read any mind, if he truly wanted to. There were times when it was more the problem of not reading minds. Some people were completely open, and that was what made Erik so interesting from the natural shields he had. "Well, good to meet you Erik. Are you with St John's College?"

Offering a guess first was always a good way to get an answer, and it worked this time. "No. I'm in Engineering, at Brasenose in Oxford." Undergraduate, then though the year was hard to guess. Erik's face was young, and his eyes were oddly hard.

"I'm studying medicine. And possibly psychiatry in the future," Charles offered with a brilliant charming smile. "There's a lot of choices involved."

Two beers arrived and Charles was surprised that one was apparently for him. "I'm sure there are. You're young to have a degree already." Erik picked up his beer, and took a slow sip. "Are you planning to become one of the professors here, or to go out and actually do something with yourself?"

"Well... I would like to travel as well," Charles said musing a little. "Perhaps I could use my skills abroad. Unfortunately, my step-father is... well, barely approves of me doing legitimate work." He shrugged a little. "If it weren't for the fact he does not want me around, I doubt I would have been allowed to come here."

"You're old enough to drink," Erik pointed out, "which means you're old enough to make your own choices. Half the school whines about mummy and daddy holding them back, wanting them to do this or that. It's only your own expectations."

"And you don't have that problem?" he asked curiously, taking his beer and sipping the froth. No doubt some of his family would be horrified at the thought of him doing something so plebeian and that was enough to make him grin. "Thank you for this by the way."

"You're welcome. Why else come to a pub, but to drink? I have no such 'problem'," Erik confirmed. "I am my own man. As long as my grades are good, the scholarship is mine. I repair radios for everything else." He shifted, reaching into his coat's breast pocket, and Charles watched him pull out a smooth cigarette case and a lighter. "Do you smoke?"

"Never acquired the habit," Charles answered. A scholarship student. Well that explained the slight shabbiness. "What got you into engineering?"

The beer was a different type than what he was used to and Charles made a mental note to be careful. His resolve tended to slip when he was under the influence.

"A natural knack for it," Erik shrugged. He positioned the cigarette in his mouth, and inhaled while he flicked the lighter on. "I don't suggest starting. It's an expensive habit."

"Mm," Charles responded and considered. "Where are you from originally?"

"Germany." Well, that had been obvious, and it felt like a waste of a question. He wasn't sure Erik was a man of infinite patience, because he felt like he wasn't. Surely he'd tire of answering questions after a while and maybe start responding without that undercurrent of taciturn suspicion. "I'd ask where you're from, but I suppose the answer will be somewhere posh that I'm not familiar with. Your words won't hold any meaning to me."

"Mm, well yes most likely," Charles answered. "You are right, it is boring really." Perhaps they had little in common after all. Not that would stop him enjoying himself if the opportunity arose.

"Still. What bizarrely named rich town are you from? Twickenham, or Sloguh? Is it Sloguh or Slough?" He took another sip, balancing the cigarette to the outside of his mouth somehow. It was a little fascinating. There had to be a reason *why* he was fascinating, other than being a little mouthy for a drunk German scholarship student.

"Outskirts of London actually, a little way into Kent," Charles answered. Slough was most definitely not a rich town. Perhaps Erik had not been in England long, or perhaps it seemed rich compared to what he was used to in his own life.

"Ah. Kent." It sounded particularly sharp in his mouth. Maybe Erik was one of those communists -- they were fascinating *right* until the moment where they started to go on about the proletariat overthrowing the capitalist pigs, which was rich irony from most of them. "Well, I suppose I can't hold it against you. I come out of Berlin."

"You were there during the war?" Charles asked, the buzz of alcohol making him want to reach out and pat the other man's hand. But there were things you didn't do in public, even at Oxford.

"Oh no. That would have been a scandal." Erik laughed, and lowered the cigarette, taking a larger sip of the beer, before he leaned into Charles a little, as if it was actually private at all in the pub. The only privacy was that they were probably boring the people around them. "Ich bin ein Jude."

"Ah." Charles nodded. Well that explained some of the defensiveness and the automatic barriers. The papers had been full of the atrocities committed by Third Reich. "Did you get out?" he asked, emboldened by the drink.

"Clearly. I'm here, aren't I?" It didn't feel like the whole story, but Erik sat back that tiny bit, resuming the previous distance from each other. Charles wanted to push in, just pull a little at his mind. Just to see.

Early perhaps in the evening, he would not have done it, but this beer was stronger than he was used to and though it damped his ability, it lowered his inhibition. His ability was strong enough that he would have to be off his face to not be able to reach out. He did, and just brushed the edges of Erik's thoughts almost without thinking about it.

It was easy, except that Erik's thoughts were hard at the edges. Most people's thoughts had a texture to them, a consistent feeling specific to each person. Most people's texture was somewhere between a milky cup of coffee and clouds, a hard concept to describe, but reliable for Charles. Erik's were hard, rusty, almost, and the first thought was of a fire pit. The flames were high, and despite the dark, the air seemed orange around him with smoke and ash.

Tilting his head down, he could see the pit was filled with bodies, and Erik was using a pole to turn them over.

It was impossible not to startle just a little. An inhale at the wrong moment and he was close to choking on his mouthful. Dear God. Dear God, the camps, Auschwitz... He'd heard of it. There were stories, stories of horror, and he thought they were perhaps a little exaggerated, that people weren't capable of committing such horrors. It seemed so distant from where Charles was, but there it was, a sense memory so sharp and painful that Charles didn't quite understand how Erik could be sitting there at the pub, staring at him.

Oh. He was staring hard.

Careless, he'd been careless. If he said something, then Erik would know, but then again, he already suspected. There was something though, something about the touch that felt strangely familiar to his thoughts. A recognition of sorts. His eyes widened. One of his kind, someone like him! He couldn't lose contact with him.

He felt Erik's thoughts shutter again, harder than before. If Charles wanted to, he could get in again, but after that taste of Erik's mind, he wasn't sure he wanted to push further. The second closed door was message enough. "Well. Was that educational for you, Charles?"

"Very," he admitted. "I apologize, Erik, that was something I don't usually do. My curiosity and the beer got the better of me." He was conciliatory in tone. "Perhaps we could talk somewhere more private?"

"Mm." Erik lifted his beer, and took a draining drink off of it. He'd be done with it soon, and Charles had no doubt inspired that, too. "Your room, or mine?"

"Wherever you feel most comfortable," Charles answered, eager to get to a real discussion. To finally be able to talk to someone about being different, he couldn't wait even if he had technically transgressed by using his abilities on Erik.

There was an oddly judging moment, and Charles was surprised when he heard Erik say, "Yours, then." He finished the beer off, and stood up, fishing into his pockets to no doubt settle the tab. He'd managed to get the cigarette back into his mouth, too.

Charles hastily downed the last of his drink and then with a grin headed out. It had taken him a while to get used to the twists and turns of Oxford streets but he had learned the most direct route back to Brasenose and his own room. It was nothing unusual to take another student back there. There was always something going on somewhere. People were socialising, mingling, studying. He very much enjoyed the attitude of the place, the air that was purest academe.

Erik jogged to catch up with him, and it was a little surprising that, when he fell into step with Charles, he was actually a little shorter than him. He didn't *seem* shorter, not when he was sitting there, not in the way he talked.

He had a sense of presence around him. An aura of sorts and Charles was only just really getting to grips with that side of his talent. It wasn't the sort of thing he was comfortable discussing on the street, or even with his normal friends because of the reactions he had experienced in the past. They headed into the college, up towards his room, still at a hurried walk.

And Erik was silent beside him, but there was a frisson of sensation, a rumbling of muted, shielded thoughts that he didn't want to reach out and touch again while they were in public. Erik was like him, only he didn't know how. But Erik, Erik was like him, he'd sensed Charles. No one ever sensed what Charles was doing.

Perhaps he, too, was a telepath. He had found reference to the ability in texts. Maybe that would explain it. He relaxed a little, making sure people were not close enough to over-hear. "Perhaps we should introduce ourselves again," Charles said. "I am Charles Xavier and I am the same as you."

Erik snorted, and stuffed his hands deeper into his pockets, if it was at all possible. "I would not go that far. But it would explain why I could not shake the feeling that you were familiar."

"You have an ability. A genetic gift," Charles said smiling at him. "You can do something others cannot... isn't that right?"

"Yes. It's not as secretive as yours." Erik followed him around a corner. They were nearly inside again, which was good because the wind was starting to pick up a little and he was starting to feel cold again. He didn't like the cold, couldn't stand it, except... no, that wasn't right. Charles didn't mind the cold at all, not really. He wished he'd brought a hat with him, but...

Spillover from Erik. Huh. Erik stopped and nudged him for a moment, close to a wall. "You see that drain there?"

"I see it," he said, watching it carefully. "What am I looking for?"

Erik held his hand out -- it was a vague gesture, but he watched a handful of long lost, grimy coins fly out of the drain and into Erik's palm. He closed his fingers over it, before turning his hand up to show Charles. "A world of metal."

It was somehow all the more impressive for being visible and tangible. That was astonishing in itself to see metal floating like that. "That is... incredible Erik. Truly incredible."

"It's a bane and a blessing." Erik pocketed the change, and shook his hand off before he started walking again. "My father was a hobbyist jeweller. I often wondered if he had a little of it in him."

"Perhaps a latent affinity," Charles answered considering the possibility. "Have you studied it? How you can do these things?

"No. I have had enough of being studied. I study engineering, not people." It was probably useful with his skills. Engineering was building and creating and wiring and developing. It could put Erik years ahead of the rest of the class, and probably did.

"They studied you there," Charles said in great certainty. "In that hell-hole. I'm surprised you got away from them.

"In 44. The end of 44." Charles could taste blood, and he was sure it wasn't his. It was like the sharper edges of Erik's thoughts slipped out of his control. "The Sonderkommando in another block revolted. One of the Crematoriums exploded. In the confusion... I ran. And ran. When the shooting started, I didn't stop running. They liquidated the Sonderkommando that night, I heard."

"That was all you could do Erik," Charles said as comfortingly as he could. He didn't know what half of those terms were, but they were heavy with meaning for Erik when he said them. He was going to have to ask later, or go on a fact-finding mission in the library. "They found a way to control what you could do then?"

He didn't think it was much comfort. "I was starving, and had no idea how to control it myself. It was like tending a match in a blizzard."

"Ah, yes… yes I had a few incidences of that myself," Charles admitted. His childhood had been fraught with episodes where his talent spiralled out of control.

Erik fell quiet again while they entered the building, still letting Charles lead. Erik had other bits of metal on him, he could tell, because there was a faint metal on metal noise when he jogged up the stairs with Charles. Change, coins and god knew what else. "I'll wait to say anything else until we're inside."

No one was close enough to hear, Charles could sense that but he agreed even as they headed towards his halls of residence. He cut across the courtyard and headed inside the building. "It's up here," he said aware it was pretty quiet. Too early on an evening for people to be back inside.

He hadn't stayed out half as long as he would have liked to, but, but this was worth more than sitting in a pub and letting his mind go blank on thoughts that were less than savoury. Even the Graduate Warden was probably still out at the pubs. "Hmn." Erik shadowed behind him on the stairs, close enough to bump faintly into him once. "Sorry."

"Here we are," he said as he reached a door. "My home away from home." It was a nice room and close to most things, probably because he was young to be here. He kept it neat, because that had been a habit literally beaten into him. Charles was aware he had some states of mind that were not overly wholesome and well-adjusted even if next to Erik he would look like the model of stability.

Still, that was between himself and the grey matter between his ears, and no one else was ever going to be the wiser. Erik was peering into the room, and then stepped in. "Tidier than mine." He seemed to be waiting for Charles to close the door, because when Charles *did* close the door, his posture shifted, relaxed. "So. Where were we? You read minds."

"Yes, among other things," Charles admitted. "I can read and send thoughts. I think there is more I might be able to do but it is not something obvious. And you... you can manipulate metal?"

"It's closer to... anything that has a weakness to magnetism," Erik murmured. He moved over towards Charles's little sofa, and helped himself to it by sitting down uninvited. At least he'd stopped smoking, though there was probably a cigarette butt somewhere out on the sidewalk outside. "I can wreak havoc on TVs without damaging the internals."

"Magnetism!" Charles was intrigued. "But that can do so many different things, not just move metal around. Can you lift a lot of metal? Does it tire you to do so?"

"Occasionally. But that's changing. Every year, I seem quite a bit stronger. My control is starting to move towards finesse. Of course, I practice on inanimate objects." He stuck a hand in his pocket, and Charles watched him fish out a coin -- a hapenny. "This isn't magnetic, and yet..."

He threw it into the air, and then thrust his hand out hard. And, it hung there in the air.

Charles smiled as he reached out to wave his fingers around the coin. "If you can wrap something in a magnetic field of sorts to lift it, wouldn't that mean if you were strong enough and you were wearing some metal... You could wrap it around yourself and levitate yourself?"

"One day, I hope so." There was no sensation around the coin, nothing that felt odd about it at all. He touched it, though, and it felt as solid as if it were sitting on a table. Erik's mouth curled into a lazy smile. "There isn't much occasion for me to show off."

"I have that problem too," Charles said, enthusiasm creeping into his voice. “The relief in finding someone who understands truly what it is like to be different..." Charles trailed off. "However, my abilities are proving a minefield.”

"Go on." While Erik probably had no more insight than Charles did, he was at least someone to talk to about it in other than a vague theoretical sense.

"Some people... well it is like conversation. There are those like yourself who have natural protection to their thoughts. Are quiet and restful where others shout out their most intimate secrets to the aether. Sometimes I am not sure want I am learning and what I am hearing. It is not always easy to determine. They say I am a genius, but am I? Or am I hearing the intelligence of other people?"

"You can read a book, but it doesn't mean you can comprehend and analyse it for a course." Erik shifted, lowering his hand and resting his elbows on his knees. The hapenny started to drift towards the top of Charles' work table.

"Would you mind if I read your mind while you are doing that?" Charles asked eagerly, desperate for the chance. "I have never felt someone exercising an ability before. I might be able to recognize it in the future.”

"By all means. Though, you could do it without asking, I do appreciate it." He shifted the hapenny, bringing it back up again while he looked at Charles. "How else will we learn?"

"The mind is often the most private place of a person. I would hate for someone to feel forced by it," Charles explain, remembering his first slip with a hint of embarrassment and mentally reached out to touch Erik's mind. "It is...very interesting."

It felt almost like a muscle flexing. There was no really conscious effort on Erik's behalf, though he was faintly focused on it. Like someone would be when they were riding a bike, because he could feel other thoughts underneath. Not a great deal of concentration, and Erik was watching his eyelashes for some reason. "Don't go in there and start moving things around. That's all I ask. That and a little forewarning."

"I can feel you moving it. Can you feel how you do it?" He asked. Erik liked his eyelashes, and that was intriguing. He was young and not immune to thoughts of sex.

"It feels... as if there's a thread between myself and it. A pull." Erik focused on that feel, and Charles could feel that focus. It made the sensation stronger, even as he lowered the hapenny again. There was an odd parade of faces in Erik's head at the same time, men, boys, people he'd known?

"Mm." It was fascinating, really fascinating. "This is where it feels like to me... here." His thoughts touched the twanging feeling.

It didn't quite work the way he'd wanted to. He'd wanted to reflect it back to Erik, not interfere; the hapenny dropped, and Charles heard a creaking noise that was a pisspoor warning before his wireless in the corner of the room exploded.

"Oh, uh..." Charles blinked. "Was that my fault? I'm sorry Erik, are you okay?"

He looked a little stunned, and there was nothing for a moment before a rush of thought -- fear, panic, tension, it felt like tension that Charles had only felt in the hours before a brawl broke out with his step father. And then it tamped down and Erik exhaled, tilting his head to look towards the wireless. "I wouldn't do... whatever you did again. We might need to take this more slowly and systematically."

"I didn't mean to effect what you were doing," Charles said. "I meant only to indicate where it was. What did I do?" Perhaps he was stronger than he thought.

"It was like you flicked the... control line. Like a train jumping the track." He still looked a little stunned, and shifted restlessly before he stood up to walk over towards the wireless a little cautiously. "That's impressive."

"I admit I was not expecting things to get so explosive. I shall have to ask to see if I can get another one," Charles said. Before today his wireless not working would be a disaster, but he was distracted by the novelty.

After all. He'd just exploded it himself, *through* Erik, who he'd only just met. "I can fix it." Probably, except that bit of wood at the back that had been knocked out. He was kneeling down to take a look at it, and that was an entirely different feeling from moving the coin. It wasn't at all the same -- it felt, and Charles was treading much more cautiously, like Erik could see everything, like he could see the layout of the wires through the box, that he could sense the pieces that weren't right anymore. Was it conductivity?

Was that an ability or was that just innate skill. And how were they different? What was the difference between the two? Charles was so completely absorbed in watching he didn't even try anything. "You have a different talent Erik... most people cannot see how things fit together in the way you do.”

"My father called it sharp eyes." Erik was deep into studying the guts now, having turned the wireless around and carefully pried open the back. He was taking his time inspecting it, touching one piece or another occasionally. Charles felt the recognition that this piece was broken and that piece was not. "Mm, I can fix this, yes."

"I would very much appreciate it. The wireless is a lifeline for me. Drowns out some of the other noise," Charles said.

"Mmm. My room looks more like a workshop than a room, but it helps." Surrounded by metal was probably a comforting feeling. Just checking over the radio felt soothing, and the panic and tension was ebbing away to nothing. It was probably safer to just observe Erik's mind, rather than try to interfere.

"Actually. I can probably get this done tonight. If you don't mind me coming back in an hour or two."

"Of course," Charles replied, only a little disappointed. What was he going to lose after all? A broken radio? Better to extend trust to someone who did not trust easily.

Erik still felt.... rattled, was a good word for it. Not afraid, but rattled by what Charles had done, that was the right texture for the emotion that was slipping out from him as he unplugged the wireless and carefully hefted it up. "Really. You're not getting rid of me that easily."

"Well, I am sure I can entertain myself until you return," Charles said offering him instinctively the space he needed.

There was no question that talking with Erik, perhaps being friends with him, was going to require more effort, more conscious interaction than anyone else he knew in the college. Erik's eyes skirted Charles' room, looking over the books, the notebooks, the papers he had, and gave a faint nod. "I have no doubt of that. Good night, Charles -- for now."

He didn't expect his door to unlock and open itself for Erik, but it did, while he walked towards it.

He was sure he was going to come back, because how could he not want to return? If he had finally found one of his own kind? Surely that was what they both wanted.

* * *

"Now, I want everyone to have finished the reading before class tomorrow. *Before* class, not during, but before." It was almost the same admonition Professor Sales made every class, to varying degrees, and every class there were students sitting there slouched down in chairs with the books they hadn't read in their laps, open to the piece they'd missed.

It was intellectually lazy of them, but Erik was starting to see the appeal of not dedicating all of his time to studying. Charles, talking with him, interacting with him, was starting to become an all-consuming obsession. How could it not, when they were gods among men, learning to control themselves and starting to cautiously test their limits?

Already in the short time they had been in contact, his ability had come on leaps and bounds. He could do things that he could never do before. Charles could show him where the power came from, what seemed to exercise it, and what did not.

He'd toyed with it before, limited, careful, secretive, but this, having someone to interact with who could tell what he was doing, was amazing. Once Charles had stopped trying to actually affect it, because knowing and *knowing* were two different beasts. That was something Charles was working on. Control of himself, subtlety, except for all that he claimed no one else noticed when he was tap-dancing around in their heads, Erik generally picked up on it.

Charles was a bit like a cat walking around a formal living room. Present, yes, usually unobtrusive, until a bookshelf was knocked over or something heinous was plucked from his memory, and then he remembered, yes, Charles was there in amongst his brainwaves. It was sometimes hard to remember how young Charles was. His experience with other minds had matured him before his time. But he had a tendency to angst himself over things that were trivial in Erik's own experience.

Sidney was giving him strange looks again from across the room. Disappointed no doubt there had been little scandal from him.

Erik hadn't been down to the informal boxing grounds to risk scandal for money in a week, and while he did... did want to, need to go sometime, well. Sidney was less an intellectual and more of a carouser, while Erik was neither -- just flexible, willing to be whatever he needed to be to survive. He sat up in his chair, and then stood up, catching Sidney's eye. Better to talk to him now than let it turn to rumours about who knew what.

Sidney was grabbing his books, doing that irritating twirling he sometimes did with his pen. "Lehnsherr. Find yourself a girl? Haven't seen you out for a while.”

He always had an insensate urge to snatch it from Sidney's thick fingers. "I've been otherwise occupied. There is life outside of engineering science, after all." He'd probably have to sacrifice part of Saturday to show face at Temple, enough to satisfy the Central British Fund members there. Every other week seemed to be enough -- he'd see if he could get away with every third week, soon.

"Oh really?" Sidney had that smirking expression on his face. His hair was coiffed perfectly into shape and he had obviously been practicing raising an eyebrow. "It hasn't been that way for a long time with you Erik. You have to come out with us and you can't say you have to work."

And most importantly... he just didn't want to. He wanted to go stretch out on Charles' floor with books and talk and halfway try to study while they talked, and then call it a night. "Mmm. Where, tonight?"

"Down by the river. You know where," Sidney said with another smirk. It was as close to a seedy area as Oxford mustered. Usually people took themselves seriously, very seriously.

Too seriously. Erik exhaled quietly through his nose, then nodded, fingers clenched tightly around his books. "Well, clearly none of you have been beaten bloody enough, to want me back so very badly. I'll be there." He'd head back to the dorms, leave a note on Charles' counter if he wasn't around.

Charles would wonder where he was. It was a little odd to see someone's face light up when he approached.

"There's a new guy taking on all comers. Not a student. There's money to be made if you can get him."

"Where's he from?" That caught his interest a little as they started to walk. He did need the money. It was just a fact of life, and he *enjoyed* the fighting. He'd been banned from the amateur boxing club for roughness, but it was something he still needed to hone. Skills supported the body and the body supported his talents.

"No one knows. He just turned up," Sidney said with a shrug. "We could do with getting a bit of student pride back. And that means our unofficial champion.

Erik couldn't really hold back the choked laugh at the obvious flattery. "Oh, well. Then the honour is mine. Fear not, I'll be there." And he turned in the other direction, blatantly trying to shake Sidney so he could go to Charles' room first. His evasiveness would only last so long, but it was worth trying.

"You could come for a drink first?" Sidney asked taking a step forward. It was almost an expectation rather than a request.

He disliked people having expectations. He disliked having to live up to them, because he'd had a long pattern of failing them -- of course, Charles probably had expectations, too. But who mattered more to him -- Charles, or just another human?

That was a simple question. "I need to drop my books off."

"You know where to find us," Sidney said. "We'll see you down there, all right?"

"Yes, yes." He kept walking, heading towards a door that led outside so he could short cut his way to Charles. It was cold outside, enough to make him shrug into his coat. He needed to get a nicer one. Somehow. He'd leave that as a pending decision. He could... get the money, he knew that but unless he had a traceable means like the fights, then it was suspect. He was automatically suspect due to the less than perfect English upper-class background.

Sidney finally took the hint and let him be. He suspected he'd ask again later, but that would be later and now was now. Erik trudged across the quad, and around a corner to reach the door that would take him the most straight way to Charles' room. The graduate part of the dorms was, he'd expected, supposed to be quieter than the undergraduate part. And it was, though, he suspected that they partied harder, more intensely. Desperately.

It was a familiar route now, even after so little time. Charles talked a lot about the relief of finding someone like him, someone who would not judge him. Erik had to agree. He was older than Charles and the intimacy he had with him already surpassed that of sex. He wasn't even sure Charles had ever broached that particular rite of adulthood.

It might be interesting to, but he wasn't going to push anything. Their interactions were... perfect as is and that was rare enough in his life to not want to upset things. Erik knocked gently on the door after he raced up the stairs, waiting to listen if Charles was inside.

"Come in, Erik," Charles called out from in his room. Of course he would know who it was outside. He probably knew where everyone in the building was.

That was probably annoyingly useful, or just annoying. Erik laid a hand against the door, and focused gently, the tumblers in Charles' door falling away for him so he could turn the knob with light fingers. "Hello."

"You know, I could just leave the door open for you," Charles said. "But I like to see you do that." He was smiling at him, the normal solemn look made strangely impish by his expression. "You’re early. Not that I’m complaining."

"Do you like bloodsports?" It wasn't a segue, but he liked to talk before Charles started to read overspill from his brain. Charles was stretched out the length of his not quite full size sofa, feet on one arm, a book in his hands, quite relaxed until Erik asked the question.

Charles looked surprised. "It was not something I have relished, no," he admitted. "That is an odd question Erik."

"Yet not entirely unrelated to why I'm here early." He set his books down on the table, standing in front of Charles while he tucked his hands into his pants pockets. "You see, I was banned from the boxing club, oh, three months into my first year? And that was when I realised I could make a good deal of money in the betting that goes on around these impromptu fights."

"You are telling me that you willingly let yourself get hurt for money?" Charles asked looking a little aghast. "Erik, you know I would help you rather than see that happen."

"I never said I'm in this to *lose*, Charles." He cocked his eyebrows at him. "I'm going to head down by the river. You can come with me and watch, or not. Choice is yours -- I just thought I'd be polite and say why I wasn't staying around tonight."

He could tell Charles was concerned by the way he was hesitant. "Forgive me Erik, I am... disconcerted by the thought of you being hurt. I can't imagine you would seek it out."

"Charles. It's not being hurt." He had time to argue, since he was skipping the quick attempt at getting drunk that Sidney was already starting. "I fight hard -- it's why I was kicked out of the boxing club. There's no shame in fighting back and doing it well."

"I wouldn't know," Charles said a little distantly and there were times he wished for his friend’s ability to be able to read those thoughts. "I will come, if only to see you are not badly hurt. I am taking medical for a start."

Erik felt an odd sense of relief when he cracked a smile. Charles could read his mind, yes, but he didn't *know* Erik yet, not fully. "Good. I'm glad -- that you're coming. Hopefully I won't have need of the medical."

"With that I heartily agree," Charles answered as he stood to join him. "Should I behave in any particular way? I do not want to be too obtrusive."

"Well, you're going to be obtrusive regardless." He was too well behaved, moneyed, young and unwounded by the world. Erik rocked back on his heels, eyeing Charles. "If anyone asks, you're helping me with my formal written English. It's a good enough reason. Everyone knows I'm applying to the doctoral program before forth year."

"I can shield myself some," Charles said. "I've been working on what I have seen referred to as a telepathic glamour. It might be interesting to try it out."

"Well, we'll see how that goes." Erik rocked on his heels again. "Come on, get your coat. I'd go on ahead of you except it's hard to give directions to a place that hasn't got a street name."

Charles grabbed his coat, slipping it on, and turned to follow him. "I am glad I am ahead of my work. My step-father would be scandalized, that I am even thinking about going.

"Your stepfather is not you." It felt like he was going to be reminding Charles of that for years and years, and that was not a bad thought at all. Erik opened the door without touching it, and moved through, stopping long enough to let Charles close and lock it. "And there are worse ways to spend your time."

"I shall try and abandon my respectability. I assume I have to bet on you Erik," he said as he closed the door.

"Well, if you want to. I'm not saying you have to. I haven't gotten a look of the other fellow yet. You might want to switch your loyalties." He buttoned his coat as he walked, but he knew that he'd have to strip down for the fight.

"As if I could," Charles said with a laugh. "You are buzzing with anticipation Erik. It's...nice."

"It's a challenge," Erik pointed out. "And it's a rush. I'm quite good at it. If I had a little more self-control, I'd probably be a Blue by now."

"Self-control is an issue. I could help with that," Charles offered as they walked along.

"I don't doubt you could. I don't doubt it one bit. However, I don't think I'll let you. I very much enjoy being me." He fell into pace with Charles, and the odd sensation that Charles was peering into his mind as if he was peeking over the edge of a wall and into some forbidden land. "Anyway, this is a relatively appropriate outlet."

"As long as you are not hurt too much. No wonder the junior deans all seem to know you,"" Charles added. "I thought you were too busy studying."

"I study quite a bit." Mostly when he didn't sleep -- it was an excellent time to put his brain to use, to distract it with the bait of books and metal. "How do you know what the junior deans say?"

"Really, need you ask?" Charles tapped his head. "I hear a lot of secrets Erik, even without trying. It is the nature of who I am."

"Well. One of those times where you realise how stupid something sounds as soon as you finish asking. So, what do they think?" He could probably list it off before Charles did, because he'd been taken aside often enough and admonished to be more of a gentleman, to think about what other people thought, to, hah, convert of all things.

"Well there are several who consider you dangerously uncultured and rough. More who really don't care that much and think it's just the sort of hijinks students get up to. There are two who are strangely excited by your evident masculinity and intelligence, and another one who really doesn't like you. Jakes I believe. He has something against you."

"Ah, that's my little Christian evangelist there," Erik drawled. "I'm sure you're the apple of the Graduate warden's eye. I give it three weeks until he takes you aside and makes sure you're all right and that I haven't corrupted you somehow." He didn't think it was possible, to actually drag Charles down into the muck with him, and he had no urge to do so. Except to, maybe, show off a little.

"I find it so strange, these matters of religion that become defining sources of hatred," Charles said, genuinely confused. "The shape of thoughts are different but the contents are the same."

"It's the nature of othering a people. Jesus was a Jew. And yet." And yet. Erik grimaced, focusing on the fact that they were finally starting to leave Oxford and heading towards the river. And yet, his family had been herded onto a train like cattle, sorted like they were cattle, and... And. And that never stopped hurting. People told him that it should stop hurting.

Charles hand was abruptly there, soothing him instinctively which meant the images had broken free of him again. "You have a right to your pain Erik, I'm sorry."

"There's nothing you've done. Sometimes I think I'll never be anything but that." That boy who'd died there, and whatever he was now were two entirely separate beings, tied by memories that hurt like knives. "I'm sure I have enough things wrong with my head that your budding psychiatrist self is swooning."

"You are one of the strongest minds I have come across Erik," Charles said seriously. "Particularly considering the trauma you have experienced."

He snorted, cutting Charles a sideways look. "I bet you say that to all the survivors you've met."

"No, just you," Charles admitted, catching his gaze as he glanced back. "You have an interesting, fascinating way of thinking. A truly different perspective."

"I'm certain I do. I'm certain you do, as well, but I can't see how you think." And he wasn't sure how he thought. He wasn't a man for too much introspection -- not on purpose. His mind did enough wandering off without him that the last thing he needed to do was encourage it.

Up ahead, he could hear voices, still faint, but closer as they walked.

"I cannot look in a mirror to see my own thoughts, though I am familiar with building worlds in my head," he said and smiled. "We must be getting close.”

"Oh, we are." There were trees to get through, and Erik ducked his head, not wanting to get branch bits in his hair as he stormed through to the shoreline.

And there they were. "Well, that can't have been much of a drink, Sidney."

"It was enough," Sidney said narrowing his eyes as he saw he had company. "Who's this?" He jerked his head at Charles a little suspiciously. Charles did look young, too young to be there.

Well, and Erik looked a little old. "The graduate student who's been tutoring me in English. I thought I'd convince him to take in a little of the local culture." He wasn't going to give Charles' name if he didn't want it given.

"I wondered why you were speaking properly," Sidney said snidely and Charles' expression hardened suddenly and he could see genuine anger lurking there for some reason.

"Erik is a very apt student," he said. "As I am sure that *you* know."

"Do you *really* want to antagonise me, Sidney?" Erik edge in towards him, still smiling while he started to unbutton his coat. The other boys were there, but not the challenger. It felt almost ominous.

"Macavoy is holding court down the bank there. He's the one who fancies himself a champion," Sidney said, glancing at Charles. "You are going to need to get angry to beat him. He's good and he's a big bastard.”

That was funny, looking at Charles. Erik quirked his eyebrows at Sidney. "Is that all?" He shrugged his coat off. "You've all bet against me, haven't you?"

"Bet against you?" Hewson said. "I remember how hard you can punch. I don't think Macavoy can beat you."

There was a tickle in his thoughts, the sensation that Charles made to let him know he was there.

 _Erik, he is older and far outmasses you. This is like an ambush._

Charles' voice, his *voice*, there in his head. Wasn't that a wonder? Talking without words, without Charles's mouth moving, He thought back at Charles, or tried to. _Yes._

Yes, it was. They were probably tired of losing, and it took a little of the enjoyment of what they'd been doing off of Erik. "Charles, do you mind holding these for me?" he asked, before he held his coat out.

"Of course Erik," he replied sounding mature and calm.

 _A fair fight is one thing, but do not expect me to stand idly by if they all plan you ill._

 _I expect you to run for help if they plan me ill. You're no fighter._ He didn't expect Charles to fight, either. He shrugged out of his waistcoat, and started to unbutton his shirt. "So. What can you tell me about Macavoy?"

"In the time since you have abandoned the sport, he has won matches against the unofficial champions of our rival colleges," Hewson said. "Including Anthony Scott of Balliol."

Who was a name in this sort of fighting. Six foot five and built like a brickhouse.

"And you *haven't* bet against me?" Erik repeated, mockingly incredulous as he stretched his arms behind his back and pulled his shirt off to hand to Charles. "Damn. Let's get this over with."

Charles took his clothes and followed as Sidney lead them along the river bank to a secluded area that was naturally shielded from view. You had to be almost on top of the area to notice there were lanterns and a crowd of more than a couple of dozen apparently waiting for them.

Lovely. Well, if they wanted a show, they were certainly going to get something. Erik inhaled slowly a couple of times, shaking out his right arm as he approached the area. Charles certainly wasn't going to like bloodsports at all *now*, Erik was sure of that.

When they saw him, someone in the crowd whooped, and there was a smattering of clapping because it was obvious the fight would start now.

"I see you have brought the challenger," Macavoy called out, stepping into the light. Charles was right, he was taller, and broader and from what he could see, well muscled. "I have heard of you Lehnsherr."

Interestingly, Charles seemed to be responding more positively to Macavoy than his supposed friends. "Good. You haven't had any dental work lately, have you?" Erik was still stretching, arms moving, trying to loosen up a little while he still had time. It would hurt less when he was eventually hit if he was limber first.

"Hah... I like you," Macavoy said with a grin. "It will be a good fight. Fight to yield or knockout."

Erik closed his eyes for a moment and nodded, "Yield or knockout." There weren't bells, but someone usually blew a whistle as a starting signal. What he needed to do was keep out of reach for the first few blows, let Macavoy shake a little of the freshness off of his arms.

Macavoy quirked a smile that was a little lopsided. He had a slightly crooked nose and a dark semi-laughing expression that seemed permanent. His fists were enormous and he was surprisingly quick as he jabbed at Erik.

Erik dodged backwards, but the next jab was just as quick and hard, and connected viciously with his shoulder, enough to make him stagger. No immediate appraisals of fighting style, no, Macavoy wasn't going to waste time on that. Erik darted to his side, aiming a hard throw right to his jaw. He clipped it but it barely made him flinch back. Shame he didn't have a glass jaw, that would have made for a short fight. No, he was solid and strong and not that easy to defeat. He punched low, looking for a gut hit that would get him to double up.

Gut, face was a favourite combination for Erik, and it shocked him when the gut punch got him head-butted in the mouth, hard enough to stagger back. Shit, shit, he could taste blood, had no idea what that had snapped or broken to split. He could feel Charles at the edge of his mind, and shoved him back before coming back toward Macavoy with a snarl and a hard left uppercut.

It caught the larger man and rocked him back and he came back at him with a punch like an iron bar aimed directly at his chest.

Duck and fail and lose footing, or catch it? Erik wasn't really aware of making the choice, though he was sure he did, and took it, felt the blow make him stumble before he went for Macavoy's jaw, feeling what he'd felt better at the second punch -- metal fillings.

He hadn't been kidding when he'd asked about dental work, and knocked two of MacAvoy's teeth out with a smack of power. There was a feeling that started to creep over him at times like this. It was more than anger, it was something flaming and alive, born in the immediacy of pain and adrenalin. Strength flowed in him, pumped through his veins and there was a sense of power that he relished, that dulled even the painful thuds of flesh striking flesh.

It didn't matter. Pain was transitory, passing through, and what mattered was the end result. They were well matched -- Macavoy freakishly strong, steady, while the more he was hurt, the harder Erik struck back. He felt something in his shoulder make a noise, and one wasn't supposed to feel noises he supposed, but he managed to elbow Macavoy hard in the chest before he went for the face with three quick hard right handed hits with his knuckles.

There was a crunching sound and a roar of response from Macavoy who was more lunging at him to grab his throat rather than boxing. Slick blood poured from his nose, making his face a bloody mask.

He'd been choked out a few times in his life, and it wasn't a pleasant experience. Vaguely, he was aware of the roar of the crowd behind him, shouting, possibly cheering, before he got his hands around Macavoy's wrists, using his strength against him to haul himself upright, kicking Macavoy hard in the crotch. They both went down, and there was one last spasm of fingers around his throat, but Erik rolled on top of Macavoy and kept punching his face until the hands around his throat went loose.

 _Erik! Stop! Stop now!_ The voice rang in his head _He is down, he is out… STOP!_

The crowd was still cheering him on, but Charles was there in his thoughts. He got in one last resounding hit before he made himself stop, struggling unsteadily to his knees before he thrust his fists into the air.

As far as setups had been, it hadn't been a very *good* one, and he started to search the crowd for Sidney.

"Once again, the winner is Erik Lehnsherr," someone shouted out and he received a cheer for that although it might have been a bit half-hearted from his so called supporters. Charles on the other hand was pushing through the crowd to reach him, his eyes a bit wild.

His lip was split, he was sure of that, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Oh yes, Sidney had better clap, because when Erik got his bearings, it was going to be him next. He hoped the little shit knew what he'd brought on himself, pulling a stupid stunt like that.

The attention on him was fading, and people were haggling, exchanging money on the bets, and he had to interact with that at least a little to make sure everyone remembered the winner's cut. Macavoy was conscious again, though Erik was sure he didn't *want* to be. He was sitting up, shaking his head to clear it and looked up at him and nodded at him.

Who would have thought he would have been so gracious in defeat?

"Erik? Erik!" Charles was there. "Look at you!"

"I'm sure I'm a sight." Talking hurt, which was rather new, but he took a step past Charles to give Sidney a shrivelling look and gesture him over. The coward circled, and thrust the pound notes at Charles instead, before disappearing into the crowd. "You had better run, you little shit!"

"Don't worry, I've taken care of it," Charles said. "I'll tell you later, but we are going and I am going to make sure that you at least get some medical care."

"I'm fine." He had an incessant urge to rub at his shoulder, and he was a little sure he'd inhaled blood. It felt good to start walking, even if he was cold.

Another inhale through his nose startled him at the taste at the back of his throat, that tangled up for just a brief second in sharp sense memory of a beating he'd taken at school before the ghettos had been established. "Ugh, lovely."

"Don't be ridiculous Erik. I think you have put your shoulder out of alignment, and certainly I need to check your ribs, strap them and put ointment on your bruises, otherwise you will be missing another round of lectures." Charles was practically leading him. "Here, you are going to get you shirt covered in blood if you put it on now. Slip on my coat, it needs a wash and I'll make sure no one pays attention to us."

"No one pays attention to me to start with, Charles. It's not a problem." He shrugged stiffly, feeling the tension in his muscles before he just reached, careful to not get blood on his shirt, for his own coat instead. "Really. Can't have you coming down with cold. Let's head back."

"Erik, sometimes I swear you are the most difficult man…" Charles said sounding concerned and irritated. "Why do you find it difficult to accept help?”

"Because old habits die hard, and self-sufficiency will always keep me in good stead." People left, people died. People found out that Erik was angry, and got scared and left, though Charles had settled on 'difficult' which was true, but rather an interesting interpretation. He was going to have to accept it for what it was worth.

"Perhaps, but you know, friends can also stand you in good stead," Charles said. "At least I can say this is practical work for my classes."

Erik's laugh sounded a little ragged, a little wolfish to his own ears. "Just for that, I'm going to bleed on your sofa when we get back."

“Out of spite no doubt," Charles agreed. "Let me help you, you are a bit lopsided."

"Likely." He felt Charles move into him, and he gave up and let the other boy pull his uninjured right arm over his shoulders. It did help, even if it made his chest feel strained and tight. He was quiet while they crossed from tree-filled nothing and back into the town to touch campus again, trying to focus past the pain, with no idea of what Charles was focusing on.

His reverie was disturbed by a raised voice. "Lehnsherr! This time I have you red-handed!" Evans the Graduate Warden had a nasal, unmistakeable tone even as he strode towards him.

"Good evening, Warden Evans. Fine night for a walk, isn't it?" He at least had his coat on, and if Charles was holding a wad of shirt wrapped around the money, well. "I'm a little drunk -- fell down, smacked my face on a paver. Charles here was just helping me back to campus, weren't you, Charles?"

"A pavement that apparently gripped you around the throat," Evans replied. "You Xavier, I find it most perplexing you are associating with this... roustabout. I would walk away now if I was you, as I doubt Mr Lehnsherr will be with us much longer."

It wasn't the first time he'd been threatened and it wouldn't be the last because he'd been caught red-handed at... nothing at all. Erik smiled tightly at Evans. "Have a good evening, Warden Evans."

"You are coming with me now, Lehnsherr," he said with a positively self-satisfied smile.

"No, I don't believe he is going to come with you," Charles said calmly. "There is no need."

"I haven't done anything wrong." He was going to insist it to the last, but Charles... Charles looked like he was concentrating. Hmn, and Erik wasn't going to stop him, whatever it was.

"The explanation you have received is perfectly satisfactory," Charles said and his eyes narrowed. "In fact you remember seeing it happen don't you?"

Evans blinked "Y… Yes. He was slightly drunk and tripped on the kerb."

Oh. He watched, waiting for the moment when it *stopped* working, but Evans looked dazed and inclined his head a little before turning back towards the building apparently satisfied he had seen a non-existent event. "That... was spectacular."

"I shouldn't have done that," Charles said sounding anxious. "But he was determined to drag you to the Dean’s. What have you done to him - he hates your guts Erik?"

"Really?" Well, Charles would know. "I've done nothing," he said while they started walking again, a little faster now.

"Well, he has a grudge. I'm noticing a trend here. You have a talent for making enemies," Charles said. "We're not far."

"Thankfully." He was tired of tasting blood, but he didn't want to spit on the grass in front of Charles which was... hysterical, actually. "I had a teacher back home tell me the nail that sticks up gets hammered down."

"That is oddly apt," Charles said as they approached his college and halls. "Just across the courtyard and then you can bleed on my furnishings."

"Thank you," Erik said, with a depth of meaning he didn't usually apply to those words. He hadn't meant to cause trouble, not more than usual, or to give Charles a miniature apoplectic fit over what he'd had to do to the Graduate Warden. He'd just wanted Charles to know... the real Erik, as much as that was possible. He knew what he was getting into, flaws and everything, which was oddly important.

His teacher had ended up hammered down, in the end, which made the story miserably apt indeed.

In they went and up the stairs and they were at Charles room. Charles was ushering him in, sitting him down. "I have some medical equipment here fortunately. It is a conceit I guess, but one of my gifts before coming to Oxford from my mother was a doctor’s bag, packed full of items. Of course it has done little save gather dust so far. Let me get water to clean you up with."

"What will you tell your mother when it needs to be replenished later this year?" Erik laughed it, but he really was starting to hurt in a deeply abiding way. He shouldn't have won that fight -- there was no logical reason for him to have won that fight. He didn't have finesse, he just had desperation.

"She won't remember giving me the gift," Charles said as he fetched a bowl of warm water and found a swab. "Lie back."

"Why not?" He shrugged out of his coat, and tried to hold still. He hated having blood in his mouth.

"Mm. You are looking a bit glassy," Charles said bringing the bag over and sat down. "I have to say, I am still unsure why you did it. You did not seem to be motivated by wanting it."

Huh, and Charles hadn't answered the question. He'd tuck that away for the moment, re-engage on it later, though Charles was allowed to have his secrets. "Because strength is important to me, because I can, I suppose."

"But you weren't exactly enjoying it," he said quizzically. "It was more a necessity." He was dabbing at him, cleaning him off.

"It is. I have a temper," Erik murmured, "and I've found this is an excellent way to... vent it, occasionally."

"I see," Charles nodded at that, but did not seem put off. "The fight itself...well, it was interesting."

"How did that feel to you?" He was curious, well, he was *always* curious. Charles handed him a handkerchief, and Erik busied himself trying to blot at his nose.

“Loud mainly," Charles said. "The crowd started as individuals, but somewhere in there the shape of a mind seemed to overlay them, like... a dreaming mind, responding to instinct more than anything."

"Mob mentality," Erik offered, half tempted to blow his nose and mostly concerned that it might knock out any useful scabbing and start the bleeding again. "What was that about Sidney?"

"He is most certainly not your friend. He has been... plagiarising from your work without your knowledge and planned to have you defeated or hurt enough that he can get to your latest 'secret' project without your knowledge." Charles looked grim.

“Well, I'm certainly hurt, but not beaten." That... was something he'd handle the rest of the way, on his own. "When I realised I'd been set up, I knew there was more going on than met the eye."

"He will not be stealing from you," Charles said. "He will experience nightmares if he goes near it."

"That... is an eloquent way to handle it." It was hard to not be impressed, now dabbing at the edge of his mouth a little. Split lips healed miserably, but generally cleanly. "Thank you."

"He steals from others all the time, knowingly. Any original thought he has goes into how to take the thoughts of others. I saw what he did. He gets you drunk and..." Charles hesitated a little as he cleaned it expertly. "Well, he is a thief."

"Well. I don't suspect I'll be going to any more fights that way anymore. I'll have to find another outlet." And there was Charles at the edge of his mind, padding in like a cat. "Don't worry. I don't have plans to have him hit by a bus. Though, if I'd gotten my hands on him right after the fight, I think I would've bled all over him and tried to beat him up."

"That would have been attractive. I was imagining Mcavoy would be... brutish somehow, but he was not," Charles said as his fingers touched his cheek carefully.

"Graceful in defeat. I cheated, a bit, though, and that I was set up wasn't his fault." Charles knew it, he was sure, that little burst of power in a punch. He inhaled, and Charles was still touching his cheek.

He had very soft fingertips. "Hello."

"Why is it so hard to believe that someone might not want to see you get hurt Erik?" Charles murmured. "Or that someone could care without any more reason than liking you."

"It's a very novel sensation for me," Erik enunciated carefully, turning his head a fraction, pressing his cheek against Charles' fingers. "I don't think you want to hurt me at all."

"You are quite right," Charles said softly and his finger drifted just a little to brush out his hair from his face. "I was concerned for you Erik, not because I felt you would be defeated but because you had to fight so hard just to be who you are now. Because you want to like me, but keep putting barriers up to stop yourself. You are not testing me with them, you are protecting yourself... aren't you?"

It would have been very easy to lie, to counter that with a negative answer, except Charles was leaning into him, touching him, and he really had no idea. He thought he did, he maybe had borrowed memories from other people, but that was different from reality. "I might be trying to protect you." Erik moved his good hand to Charles' shoulder, hardly feeling him at all through the layers and layers of clothes.

"Possibly, but as you can see, I am capable of protecting myself," Charles said. "I know you see me as young Erik, particularly with regard to your experience but in terms of knowledge and experience, I have been flooded with the extremes of human thought for the last decade. I have grown up knowing the best and worst of people and there is nothing in you that I need protecting from."

"If you change your mind..." It was going to hurt, if he changed his mind, and it was going to hurt Erik probably more than Charles, which led neatly back to him protecting himself. He probably didn't even need to say that aloud.

Maybe he just wouldn't give Charles a chance to change his mind. He peered at Charles' face for a moment, and then leaned in to kiss him.

Charles didn't hesitate in responding, he kissed back, something soft and gentle and alien to Erik's experience. There was a warm presence flooding over him as the kiss lingered and he wasn't sure that Charles was aware he had even projected that. He wasn't going to tell him, because it felt good, it felt seeping, soothing. It helped Erik relax enough to shift, twisting on the sofa so he could pull Charles down on top of him without breaking the kiss.

It was a shame when Charles broke for air, but he hovered within an inch or so of his lips. "I don't want to cause you pain," he said and he could feel the huff of his breath against his lips.

"Metaphorically, or physically?" Because the fact that he was covered in scrapes and bruises and a few cuts didn't actually bother him. The split lip was a little interesting, and he could only imagine how that tasted for Charles. "I prefer physical to mental."

"Mm, apparently you do," Charles said and he quirked a smile that gave him an impish look as he glanced down. "Perhaps though, I am pushing you."

"Pushing me?" That was the funniest thing Charles could've suggested. "I don't think so." He slid a hand down Charles' back, just settling there.

"I admit I am not usually so forward. In fact, if truth were told I am not forward at all."

"I think this could be the definition of forward," Erik murmured, leaning up to kiss him again. He liked the feeling of kissing Charles. "Not that I mind."

The kiss was a little more intense this time, and that same warmth seemed to encapsulate him along with flickering images of the intense colour of his own eyes, and the wildness and texture of his hair. Kissing Charles was different to other experiences.

Kissing Charles was like experiencing what he was experiencing, overlapping with him at the edges, and he closed his eyes, pressing his other hand against the back of Charles' neck. The warmth was an underlying layer to the sensation of Charles moaning into his mouth when Erik traced his tongue against his lips.

"When was the last time that you felt like this?" Charles asked kissing his lips lightly in between word as if he couldn't bear to be separate.

"I don't know." He didn't think he had. He'd missed the supposed best parts of puberty, and kissing wasn't usually on the menu. He stretched a leg out and then bent it, pressing his knee against Charles' thigh from the outside because it felt like Charles was going to fall off the sofa. "This is unique."

"Hopefully enough," Charles murmured, moving to press his lips to the tender bruises on his jaw. "Perhaps one day we will find one of our kind who can heal with a touch. Until then..."

"Oh." It hurt a little, pressure, but it was the sort of ache that Erik could do more with, hands clinging to Charles for a moment while he processed what felt like a reverberation in his senses, dizzying before he started to fumble the buttons of Charles' shirt. He didn't want to go too far too fast, but he wanted to *feel* Charles.

"If you are going to do that Erik... Please would you lock the door?" Charles said. It wasn't an objection to being touched after all, just caution. Society frowned upon that possibly more than their other difference.

Which was absurd of them, but Eric knew it, knew what the pink triangles he'd seen in the camp meant. It was easy to reach out, lock the door, weld the deadbolt to the strikeplate. No one was getting in, and if someone tried he had plenty of opportunity for delay. "There. Just you and I, now."

"Well then," Charles said and he seemed a little nervous. "You should know I haven't done this anywhere outside my own mind. Although, vicariously, I am very experienced."

"We'll take our time, I think." He didn't even have Charles' shirt all the way off, but it felt good to slide a hand over his skin. "I'd like the opportunity."

"I'm scarcely going to stop you Erik," Charles answered. "I am just warning you what you are getting into with me as you are so keen to ensure I have been given ample opportunity to walk away. I am still a virgin in body, if not in mind and I am technically underage."

It didn't stop Erik from touching Charles, or sliding a thumb slowly over top of his left nipple. "How old are you?" He was eighteen, and he didn't think Charles was much younger than that.

"Just 17. I was admitted early," he tilted his head a little. "I thought you older than 18. In your mind you are."

"I was twelve when I told the registrar at Auschwitz that I was 18. I had to keep that in mind -- couldn't let it slip. 18 and willing to work." The fact that he was small for the age was probably a delight for their preconceived notions about Jewish inferiority. Erik finished with Charles' buttons.

Charles had very smooth pale skin that he could touch. "I understand now," he said somehow knowing how not to lean on a bruised area.

"I suppose some part of me thinks I'm 24, now," Erik drawled, leaning up again, kissing his shoulder. "Seventeen year old virgin. I'm going to accept that as a challenge, and an opportunity. You have a beautiful mind."

"I thought that would be my line," Charles said and smiled. "That feels good Erik."

"Good. We'll work through what feels good." Back to Charles' neck, taking his time, sliding his tongue out a little, but mostly kisses. Charles tasted good, and Erik mostly wanted to make him groan.

"Mmm," Charles hummed approval under his breath, closing his eyes as he kissed back where he could. But mostly he seemed to be relaxed.

And he felt relaxed. It was odd to feel someone else's contentment, but Erik supposed that was what the warmth was. He kissed along Charles' jaw, hitting a spot just below his ear that made Charles gasp. "That...is very good Erik," Charles managed. "Very... I did not know a spot there could produce such a reaction."

"Nerve endings. You should know that, as a budding medical student...." Erik leaned back, blew gently on the damp mark he'd left.

It made Charles shiver all over. "There is knowledge and there is sensation," he admitted.

"Same nerves, many sensations." He leaned in, gently touched the spot with teeth -- hardly a scrape, but still very erotic. He let his hands idle down, settle against the waistband of Charles' pants.

"I can hear what you are thinking of doing," Charles said in amusement. "Would you like to see what I am thinking?"

"Yes. It's only fair that you share." Particularly since he wasn't overtly aware of any plan at all in his head. His subconscious was busier than he thought.

"Good." The warmth spread and it was an odd sensation, seeing and feeling things in his head that he could also feel outside. Pleasure, anticipation, a little fear and anxiety. That was Charles right there, wanting him.

Wanting him, wanting more, with only fuzzy ideas of what more was, though Erik picked 'naked' out of that jumble pretty cleanly. "Nothing we do should be feared." Not by them. By the rest of the world, maybe.

There was no denying that he thought the two of them together were something special. But naked, that was a simple wish to oblige. He was already half way there and Charles would not be far behind. They just had to get around. Pants. "Can I?" He just kept his hands still, looking at Charles, waiting for words rather than the rushing feeling of yes yes yes.

"Yes Erik, please..." Charles said softly. "I think it will be very enjoyable."

"I'm going to do my best. Don't hold me to too high standards, though, my experiences aren't the best. There's been a lot of imagination." In the making out part, the heavy petting part, in particular. Erik could slide Charles' pants open with a thought, metal button and zipper yielding for him.

"Perhaps you'll realise to a psionic, imagination is at least as potent as the real thing," Charles replied with a hint of a laugh.

"Good." He concentrated, trying to think as loudly as he could at Charles about the two of them rolling around naked on Charles' bed. Skin on skin, and nothing else.

"Subtle you are not," Charles laughed. "Shall we move to a more comfortable venue?"

"I think so. I keep thinking you're going to fall off of the sofa," Erik smiled, leaning up to kiss Charles again.

"Come on," Charles said kissing him and then pushing up. "Let’s get properly comfortable." He reached to help Erik up.

His whole body was starting to ache, but he clung to Charles' hand like a lifeline while they got off of the sofa. Charles' trousers were falling down a little, starting to slide off of his hips, and it was a nice view.

He was lean, his skin definitely pale and soft, and hipbones curiously defined. Hard labour and exposure to the elements had not played much of a role in his life. But he followed him to the bed which was marginally bigger and certainly more comfortable. Erik didn't waste any time leaning in to kiss him again, gentling him to lie back down on the bed while he tried to work Charles' pants off. He could feel muscles under his hands, a comfortable strength that wasn't showy or useless.

That was what was nice about men. Muscles, and inherent strength there that he could respect and enjoy. Charles was quite boldly trying to reach back, touch him a little more, encourage him a whole lot. It was strange for it to feel a little less furtive, a little less hurried and scared, though they were in Charles' locked space, which helped. "Mm, hold on. I'll get my shoes off..."

"That will be good, "Charles replied. "Let me help." He slid his hand down Erik's leg appreciatively until he reached his shoes.

That was interesting, Erik decided, but he didn't interfere, just peering at Charles. He liked the idea of Charles kneeling in front of him, though the focus would have been best situated elsewhere. Still, it made getting closed to naked that much quicker.

Charles glanced at him having evidently caught the tail end of that thought and smirked a little as he pulled the shoes off, getting rid of his clothes too. "There, back on an equal footing.”

Sliding out of his pants hurt less than Erik had expected, and he took his time looking over Charles before he had his hands free to touch again. "Much better."

"It is ...more intense than in some thoughts, more real," Charles said as he settled down more to the side of him than a top him this time.

Erik slid a hand over Charles' back, slow, deliberate, fingers lingering over his spine. "Is it too much?"

“No, I do at least know how to touch myself," Charles replied with a wry twist in his voice. "I am not a complete shrinking violet."

"I can't imagine anyone *doesn't* do that. Well." He could imagine, but he wasn't one himself. Erik shifted, sliding an arm around Charles, and didn't put much forethought into shifting them both, rolling over on top of him even though it made his body hurt.

"Interesting difference," Charles said and he really did over analyse sometimes. The warmth from his mind seemed to show he enjoyed it.

"Yes. You're..." He was looking for a milder way to say the thought that Charles could already read -- that he was gorgeous, that when he got older he was going to be even *better* looking, with shoulders that felt under Erik's hands like they were just starting to broaden. He kissed Charles again, trying to decide just how far to drag Charles.

 _As far as you want,_ Charles answered in that new mind voice of his. _I don't believe you will hurt me Erik._

It startled him a little, to hear that quite so crisply, and he stopped kissing him, pulling back just a little. "I thought I proved my control issues at the fight. I... want, and will, make this very good for you."

"Then do not stop. If I am uncomfortable, I will let you know," Charles said aloud and then added _Directly._

"I think I could get to like that." It would certainly add privacy to talking. He leaned in, half crouching over Charles, and kissed his collarbone, trying to rekindle the heat that had been slightly interrupted.

It did not take long and he felt more settled this way, more in control of things and that made his movements surer and more focused. Charles moved more against him, less hesitant now he didn't have to take the initiative. After all, Erik knew what he was doing, mostly, and they might as well both benefit from it. He liked the feel, the taste of Charles' skin -- warm and clean enough to make him forget it was cold outside, cold in the hallways. And the reaction when he carefully licked a line over Charles' right nipple was priceless.

Turned out that Charles was very sensitive there and obviously had not realised it. The expression of shock on his face mingled with pleasure was impressive and amusing especially as it seemed to rob him of words both physical and mental. After that, it was easy to lose himself in what he was doing, shifting down a little more to get comfortable, kissing for one nipple and then the other before he slid a hand down to wrap it around Charles' cock.

That really didn't seem to worry Charles at all. In fact from the way he was moaning , it was more likely he was revelling in it. "Mmm, god in heaven Erik... How did you find out I like that?"

"Lucky guess." He hardly used teeth at all, just a faint touch to one nipple, but he could feel the sensation slide through Charles in a burst of heat. The excess skin in his hand was interesting, a little extra to work with while he started to stroke Charles.

That was very well received, and Charles did not take long to reach a point of sheer arousal and heat. "More Erik..." Charles murmured. "More...”

More. More would be easy to do, and hard, and he hurt, which wasn't the best circumstances for the rest, for the *most* more that came immediately to mind. Erik shifted, crawled down over Charles' body while still stroking, and licked the head of his cock.

Charles groaned like he had died and gone to heaven, which from the feel of things was a fairly accurate description. "Erik!"

He put one hand on the back of Erik's head, and that was all the permission he needed to close his eyes, and start sucking. It wasn't just a one way thing -- he was as hard as a rock, and Charles was touching him, Charles was close, and Erik hadn't realised how desperate he was for contact until he had it.

There was a burst of near incoherent half words in his head from Charles but the thing that was the most startling was the way that under the stream of 'oh god yes' was 'fuckmefuckme' which was shocking as Charles never seemed to swear. He was trying to thrust some as well, pushing against him.

That was... that was vivid, and almost compelling while he sucked harder. If they could just get that far, it would take the edge off, and they could, would, slow down. The sensation when Charles came was almost like having an orgasm himself; something bright, hot and intensely pleasurable flooding his mind. Overwhelming, and he could... could get used to that, Erik noted when he finally shook his brain loose enough to do more than lean his forehead against Charles' hip, breathing hard.

"That was..." Charles struggled to get his breath back. "As good as many of the fantasies I overhear. Thank you, Erik..."

"I think I should be thanking you." He was still hard, but it *felt* like he'd come, and he was just as caught up in it as Charles was.

"Only when you've done what you want to do,” Charles said and that was an invitation if ever he'd heard one.

He shifted, kneeling over Charles' thighs while he traced a line beside Charles' cock with his thumb. It took a moment to arrange it right mentally, but then he thought hard at Charles a mental picture of Charles with his knees up to his chest, and Erik over him, in him. "I want you to have a good choice in this..."

"You are my good choice," Charles said and just the trusting innocent way he said that as an agreement was enough to hit Erik in an unfamiliar emotion. It was something hot and intense and not something he recognized.

It was something he wanted more of. "All right. All right. I'll just..." Try not to get too overexcited, and kiss Charles again, trying to think of what they could *use*.

"Shaving foam?" Charles suggested. "I do have some lotions for my head. One of them?"

"Lotions." Erik laughed a little. "Shaving foam... not so much. I'll be right back."

"I'll be waiting," Charles replied, sprawling out wantonly. The pleasurable effects of his climax had mellowed his anxiety. He liked that idea, of Charles waiting. It took Erik a moment to get his legs under him, and then he got to his feet and headed for Charles' bathroom to get lotion. It had to be better than spit.

He couldn't use that on Charles for his first time. First time with anyone. He had an obligation to make it good. I he made it good, then he would want to do it again, or experiment. It wasn't like it was really a hard obligation, or particularly altruistic on Erik's behalf. He grabbed a bottle, and headed back for the bedroom, rubbing a little between his fingers. The texture felt nice.

It would do. Charles would need loosening and the thought of pushing into him was making his throat and mouth dry with anticipation. He knelt back on the bed, leaning in to kiss him. Kissing Charles was enjoyable, and a little novel. Sometimes, there just wasn't enough kissing in the world, not in Erik's world. "Don't rush it if you start to feel eager. I don't want to hurt you."

Charles kissed him back. "You won't," he said confidently. "I'm ready Erik, you can do this."

He stayed where he was, face to face with Charles, kissing at him leisurely while he slid a hand down towards his balls to fondle them before he went any further.

Charles liked that as well from the way he gasped in his mouth. “I keep seeing your anticipation."

"What does my anticipation look like?" He pressed one fingertip, slicked up, against Charles' asshole, and felt the flutter of muscle.

There was an eager sensation, a flutter of images overlaid by wanting. Pornographic images of his cock pushing into flesh and sensations of heat and tightness. Oh yes, that was very likely his anticipation, and it made Erik flush red with heat. "Does this feel good to you?"

"Very much so." Charles looked at him and he could feel somehow what Charles was thinking or feeling as he touched him. The eagerness and nervousness there, just a quivering touch of it.

"Good." He shifted a little, slowly pushing in to the knuckle. "If you don't... actually like it, I do."

"You want it this way right now," Charles replied even as he squirmed a little, but he was still relaxed from before.

"I want *you*," which was an important distinction for Erik, leaning back a little, shifting to kneel between Charles' legs instead of crouching over him.

His injuries were nearly forgotten in the excitement and build up as he became more intent on stretching him, preparing him. _You have me._

That was a wonderful, wondrous feeling. Listening to Charles moan and inhale, reacting to his fingers as he stretched him out to two, adding more lotion to make it smoother.

It was easier than he thought, possibly because he could feel when Charles was finding it too much and it was a heady feeling to be so sure of himself and what was happening. He managed to get him loosened to two fingers easy enough and Charles seemed to be enjoying it.

Three was sometimes too unyielding, or at least Erik considered it unyielding, and spread lotion over his own cock, slowly pulling his fingers out of Charles. It was almost funny, looking at the extra skin Charles had on his cock. It was just different to what he had seen of his fellows in the camp. But not of others.

"Stay with me," Charles said softly.

It was just enough to pull him back, when he hadn't quite realised he needed to be pulled back. "Sorry." Just a drift. He ran a hand over Charles' thigh, rubbing lotion into the skin idly. "I'm going to go slowly. Tell me if I should stop."

"You’ll know," Charles said which meant he was going to leave that trickle of information to come into his mind. That was useful and he felt more secure about what he was doing. He would genuinely know if Charles was about to be overwhelmed with anxiety.

Which was more reliable than words, and almost more enjoyable. He ran his hand down Charles' thigh, and shifted him, pulled his leg carefully up over his shoulder as he started to lean into him, trying to position himself with his other hand. Easy, easy and it wasn't that he could feel the sensation of what he was doing to Charles but he was getting the reaction. Enough to slow when he needed to, and push forward when he didn't even while Charles groaned and closed his eyes.

"Mmm." So good. So good that he wanted to lose himself in the feeling, of Charles, yes, pornographically tight around him, warm and trustable.

"Mmm." Charles shifted a little. "I'm okay for you to move Erik," he said and his voice was a little shaky but definite.

Very sure of what he wanted. Erik hitched Charles in a little closer, and started fractional thrusting, trying to get him used to the sensation before he tried for more. Charles seemed to like that, from the responses he was getting, and he relaxed into it with each passing moment.

It didn't take long for them to fall into a cadence, even if after a while Erik wasn't sure what was him and what was Charles and who... was moving anymore, except that the feeling was mounting. His sensation and Charles sensation melded together into one enormous compulsion to move deeper, faster, now, now, now and he couldn't stop, didn't want to stop because there was something satisfying in it. He was kissing Charles, had him bent almost in half, and just kept thrusting, moving, enjoying the heat, feeling Charles clutching hard at him when he finally hit that peak.

Or, one of them had.

He thought it was him, but thought was difficult to hold onto because there was a surge of pleasure that blotted out pretty much everything except that last moment. It felt fantastic and maybe it meant he had come second, or first he wasn't sure, but neither did he care. All he could hear afterwards was Charles panting for breath in the come down.

Erik shifted, pulled out, and then moved to stretch out beside Charles, sliding arms around him. He never wanted to lose that feeling.

Charles turned to him, his smooth skin and innocent look, flushed and content. "Well, that was... fun," he said in an understatement. "I look forward to doing that again."

"When I'm less bruised up, yes." He clutched Charles tighter, trying to work his way through the emotions that it had brought up. Yes. They were definitely going to have to do that again.

Then he let himself relax more completely than he could ever remember doing so before. He had won a fight, had sex with someone who seemed to care and who knew all the secrets he usually had to conceal. He'd be a fool to let this go, and if there was one thing he was not, it was a fool.

* * *

Not for the first time Dr Carlin considered this was a bad idea. A spectacularly bad idea, with disaster waiting to happen written all over it. Admittedly he hadn't been the one to capture the two most powerful mutants currently on the planet, and he wasn't the one who passed the orders on to get them 'controlled' but he was the one who had devised a lot of the technology involved in the process. Foolishly he had believed it would be useful for crimes and criminals, or even a psychiatric usage as it took a while to synchronize with brain patterns, but then once it did you could effectively reprogram areas of the brain that were unable to function, or in the case of trauma, excise damaging memories.

Of course once the “New Genoshan Government” got wind of it, his life had been hell. In the aftermath of the fall of Mutant Genosha, the slaughter, old Genoshan expatriates had pulled together and organized it all. There was no questioning the genius of the work. Self-driven memory recall, the both of them going through it together, filling in gaps as they went, was fascinating and Xavier’s psionic field actually inadvertently assisted the process. Still, he never would have pegged either of them as queer, let alone having had a liaison.

It wasn`t his decision to have the ‘voyeur’ monitor on at all times, either. Dr. Randall called it amusing background noise of two lives that had officially ceased to exist. Their disappearance had been a boon for those who wanted the surviving mutant factions disoriented, left rudderless.

Dr Randall thought everything about the whole situation was amusing. Carlin was faintly disturbed at the way he seemed to relish having mutants in his power. Of course he was a genius with drugs and he had devised the reconditioning process but there was something a little unwholesome about the man.

"Memory synchronization continuing - must be an effect of Xavier’s psionic field," he reported. It had been an unexpected effect. The two were running through memories in tandem, much as they were strapped in side by side. In theory though, if Randall was going for subtle reprogramming, it would make it easier. He could implant a memory in one and then watch events play through them both.

"It`s very convenient for us," Randall mused, peering over his shoulder. "I was worried that one or both of them would throw the sedation, but this is neatly self policing."

And all he`d need to implant memories was to muddle through whose mind was the dominant of the two. It seemed obvious that it was Xavier, but Magneto’s thoughts were neatly nested into Xavier`s memory as well, and the texture was... unique. If he got it *wrong*, he`d break the fourth wall, and there was the risk of Xavier snapping free.

So he kept mapping, carefully observing their interactions. They had all the time in the world.

"What age are they at now?" he asked, as Randall was obscuring the screen. Their vitals seemed steady and strong and the synchronization was working well. He wasn't sure if they were just going to try and make them clearly pro human in there, or something more subtle.

Subtle seemed the best choice, given Magneto`s... point of view. "They`re still teenagers. I`m going to move them up a little. I don`t think we`ll lose any informational fidelity. Just a lot of fucking and sulking."

Dr. Carlin shrugged. "That is going to depend what they actually want us to do. Trying to rehabilitate psionics is never easy."

And Xavier was the strongest on record. Magneto... Who had not heard of him? He was the one that looked the part of a vengeful demi-god.

"I don't care if we rehabilitate them. They're never..." Randall waved a hand vaguely. "Going to walk out of that door even if the powers that be are going to make us try and turn them. Too many people to contradict the implanted memories. What we need to do is control them from here, as they are now."

Carlin tried to conceal his shock. That was a disaster waiting to happen. What were they thinking? "But...keeping them that deep for a long period of time will effectively kill them. The system isn't designed for complete prolonged immersion. It's designed for synchronizing, modifying and then extraction. There are a lot of risks involved." Not least of which that one or other of them might find a chink in the process and realise it wasn't actually happening.

"Yes. And do you *really* think the brainwashing will take? Can we risk what will happen if it fails?" He didn't have to have a machine to know the kinds of horrors Randall was considering might be rained down on them, because he'd considered them himself.

"But think of the contribution the pair of them could make if they were correctly processed.," Carlin said and frowned a little. Of course, someone somewhere, believed they could be turned otherwise a lethal injection would have been introduced into the sedative drip keeping them tranquil. If death were truly the aim, then they would be dead.

"As veritable vegetables, they`re still useful," Randall countered. "Once we can control them. If you *insist* on doing it your way, well."

Dr Carlin shrugged. "Well, at the end of the day, we don't decide what is most needed. It is our lords and masters paying our wages. We do what we are paid to do."

He was pretty sure they wanted their subjects useful and profitable at the least.

"Besides, this new variant of a shared experience is fascinating."

"Once we have a better feel, we`ll try to write in a few... controlling memories, then. If it fails, we go back to my plan."

"As you say," Dr Carlin said. Letting two omega level mutants die would be a terrible waste.

It was time to start monitoring again. It would be interesting to see where they were now.

* * *

Why was it that despite his history with Moira, and the flush of a love affair and the fact that Erik had his own affairs, his first instinct when something happened was to go to him? They hadn't really stopped. Other events had occurred, but all through their degrees, that connection had maintained. When he discovered a new thing, a new aspect of his power, he ran to Erik. When they couldn't be together, sometimes he reached out mentally. When they were with other people they were faithful to them, in body at least. In mind, though... Well, he had long since mastered a sensory complete projection. He had never been so close to anyone as he had to Erik, and it was something natural and almost inevitable.

He hadn`t really thought about the intensity of that connection until his mother died, until he was standing on the door to Erik`s apartment -- and it was absurd that Erik had an apartment at all, with all the time he spent at Charles` -- feeling ragged and shocked and hurt.

The door opened before he could even knock.

"Erik." It seemed so difficult to speak actual words but he managed to stutter out the formalities. "I hope this is not an inconvenient time." He didn't want to force Erik to talk to him, though he could now. He could get anyone to stop and listen to him if he wished it now, but he never did that to Erik.

He didn`t have to but he also didn`t want to, not to Erik. "No, come in." _I was just packing._ Oh. Oh, god, yes, that. That, which he`d been trying to not think too hard about but Erik wasn`t a British citizen, and he`d gotten an American work visa.

All roads, including funerary ones, led to America.

Erik put a hand on his shoulder, though, and pulled him in through the doorway. "What happened?"

"My mother," he said and there was a quaver in his voice no matter how hard he tried to disguise it. “She's, she died today. Unexpectedly." There was a hole in his thoughts where his awareness of her had lingered. He had not remembered his father or perhaps not been as linked to realize the absence he caused, but this was like a gaping wound for all the fact they had not been a perfect mother and son.

"I'm so sorry." They had still been mother and son, and Erik understood that. He understood that something didn't have to be perfect and bright polished to mourn it.

The hand on his shoulder slid down, sliding over his back and them pulling him in close. The door shut, and Charles knew Erik had done it with his mind, but the only thought he could pull from Erik was worry, concern. What did Charles have to do and what could he do to make it easier? Erik had never arranged a funeral in his life, but he'd work out how to if it spared Charles from having to do it, except...

Stepfather. His stepfather wasn't dead yet. He wondered if they were investigating him for murder somehow.

It was possible. The money had been their family’s, not his . But his mother had been an alcoholic, had been unsettled and that was a charitable way of putting it. Abusive, Erik had said about his family when he had let glimpses of it through into a shared mind space. He tried not to, because Erik had lived through a worse horror and what was the dysfunctional home-life of one rich kid in the face of the prison camps? But his mother, in her moments of lucidity, had cared. Sometimes she had hated, but he remembered the caring now and he suspected the relief would come in soon enough.

"I do not know exactly what has happened," Charles said aloud. "I... I do not know what to do."

"Mourn," Erik murmured, still half holding him. "Who called?"

"The housekeeper, Mrs Byrne, " he replied grateful for that solidity. "And you are leaving, too, Erik, there will be no one here, nothing to keep me here."

"Come with me." And while it might`ve been a hollow suggestion from anyone else, it was honest from Erik.

"I, I am not yet finished here," Charles said, though he was tempted, really tempted. He still wanted to become a doctor, but perhaps his original plans needed to change too.

"I know. I know. We'll... after." After everything, after his mother was handled. "Do you have to go home?"

Charles considered this. It was obvious that he should, if nothing else for the reading of the will and so on. He was not sure if he was an executor or whether that fell to his step-father somehow. "I will have to go home for the funeral and reading of the will at least."

But the truth of the matter was, he no longer had a pressing reason to stay in England. "I`ll go with you if you want me to." Not even need, just want. "I have three months to get over there before the semester starts..."

He wanted to say no, because he shouldn't need the support, but facing his step-father, his step-brother now was going to more than he could bear. "I should say no, but..." Erik would be feeling his relief at the suggestion, he did not block himself against his friend.

"But you don't want to, and there's no reason why you should say *anything*," Erik drawled. "I know we've... had ups and downs, but you're important to me, Charles."

He was relieved to hear that as well. They had their arguments and they were spectacular arguments sometimes. They had other lovers, but he knew he could count on Erik just as Erik knew he could count on him. Although Charles knew Erik struggled with that concept. "I really would appreciate it. My step-father and step-brother are not well disposed towards me, and with my mother gone, it is possible they might try something."

He could feel how unacceptable Erik found that idea, even though he was pulling away. "No, they won`t. I`ll go."

"I do not want to inconvenience you," Charles replied and he meant that. He didn't want to force Erik to come but he wanted him. "They most likely will not react well to you. Or anyone I bring home."

"They won`t react well to you," Erik murmured mildly. "Sit down, let me get you something to drink."

"I could use it," he admitted. The thought of it was definitely attractive. Usually he avoided drink as it could have some strange effects on his abilities if he over indulged.

But he was with Erik, and Erik didn't care. Erik had gotten him drunk the first time they met, or tried to. Erik nodded, and gestured him to the sofa, before sliding into the tiny space that passed for a kitchen, or a broom closet. Or both. "I keep thinking that we have a future together, Charles. Or perhaps that we don't have a future if we go on different paths. I don't want to lose you."

Right now he desperately wanted that connection. He felt like he had lost his only connection with the world except for Erik. "Nor I you Erik. I do not believe that you believe in how much you mean to me. I cannot imagine a world where we do not have a future."

"Then that is that," Erik murmured, coming back with a bottle of beer.

"I will not force you to stay long. I cannot afford to stay long myself," Charles said. He took the bottle and drank, feeling the familiar sensation steady him as he sat down. "Are you sure I am not upsetting your plans? What were you going to do for those three months?"

"Think hard about not going and picking up engineering work in Israel." Erik sat down beside him on the sofa.

"Possibly not the best plan," Charles agreed. "You almost need to start freelance Erik. You are certainly good enough to do so."

"Then I`d have to deal with people," Erik drawled, tone sliding towards amused. He took a sip of his own beer. "I don`t know. I need time to think."

It was easier to focus on that, than on the constant aching awareness that his mother was dead. "Think what to do? What do you want to do Erik?" He could do anything really. He had the capability to change science in a way people could not comprehend.

But Erik tended to not think ahead. It was one day, one week, one goal at a time, casting a little further ahead every year, but no real grand plans. The job he'd taken in the States was... easy. Too easy for Erik, if Charles had anything to say. He'd be bored in days, and then what?

Or maybe that was just Charles projecting, because he didn't want to lose him, too. Erik tilted his head down for a moment, and then peered over at Charles. "Do you want the pragmatic answer, or....?"

"I want to hear what you really want. What you don't allow yourself to dream to be possible," Charles said looking at him but not pushing with his mind.

Sometimes it was best to let Erik keep the thoughts behind his words to himself. He watched Erik take a slow sip from the beer, rolling the bottle idly between his hands for a moment. "I want to find other people like us. I want to see what we're capable of, and how we can change the world."

It was a thought he had toyed with himself. Finding Erik had changed him a great deal, no longer alone. "The thought had occurred to me," Charles answered. "That there are those who might not be as fortunate as us, those who might believe themselves gods, the... resistance from the normal population. Perhaps we are in a better position than most to do something about it."

He could feel a darker, slightly more miserable texture from Erik's thoughts, but still didn't quite reach out. "The thought had occurred to me that we've been exceedingly lucky. How long until someone else like us has a... does something publically, and ends up taken into government custody, or lynched? How many *others* have already had that happen?"

"Perhaps it has been happening all through history in one form or another. Perhaps who we are, what we can do is normal for the human race. The evolution that Darwin talks about does not happen in a smooth gradual continuum but in rapid bursts over time followed by integration or destruction of the species," Charles said and smiled. "I wonder if it has ever been approached consciously."

"What, with the next evolution aware that they are?" Erik asked blithely. "As a philosophical argument, it... yes. but unfortunately philosophy finds itself twisted by human hands more often than it's reflected on thoughtfully."

"But as a goal, the successful integration of a potential society of evolved humans might be a possible aim? I mean, ensuring the liberties for them to contribute without witch hunts," Charles said.

"I'd like for that to happen." He shrugged a little. "But I'm no visionary. Someone else will have to do that." He gave Charles a lift of his eyebrows.

"Oh I see," Charles smiled a little having successfully distracted himself from the reason he was there. "Then we will have to discuss that when we are at my home. And consider what we need to make a dream a reality."

"Yes." Erik shifted, close enough that they were sitting on the sofa, thigh to thigh. Erik had, perhaps, a tiny obsession with body warmth, a background enjoyment that barely registered consciously but was present if Charles went looking for it. "I'll arrange the train tickets. I assume we need to head out tomorrow morning."

"Yes, I said I would be there tomorrow," Charles acknowledged. It did not cost him anything to indulge his friend. "May I stay tonight?"

"You know you don't need to ask that." A little indulgence would make him feel better, at least for a moment of relief.

* * *

He'd underestimated how much he hated trains. It happened, occasionally, and when it did, he usually spent the train ride near the window, feeling halfway to suffocation and trying to not snap at Charles for something that was honestly not his fault. Not when Charles was already in a miserable mood to be coming home from their sanctuary in Oxford, and to be coming home for his mother's funeral. He just needed to stay... steady, because that was why he was there. To be supportive.

And to keep Charles's step-father away from him. He'd seen the memories, felt the beatings in that stretched out echo of a way he seemed to experience Charles's memories. There was no way he was going to let Charles out of his sight.

It made him wonder why Charles had just not done something about it. Perhaps he hadn't been able to at a young age or perhaps he was scared to stand up against the man, but Erik knew he was able to alter people’s minds, stop them in their tracks. He didn’t do it often, but he could do it.

Before they got out of the taxi at what could only be described as a mansion of sorts, he found suddenly that Charles hand had crept into his.

There was no trite response for that, no 'everything will be all right' because Erik knew better than most people how very badly things could go, very quickly. He squeezed Charles's fingers. _I think together, we're quite safe. This will go... decently._

 _You do not know them,_ Charles said. _I am very grateful that you are here. No doubt my step father will be rude to you. He generally is to anyone I know._

 _I was trying to be positive. All right, then. They'll be the very horrible people I've seen in your memories, and I'll be here to end the fights they start._ He slid his thumb over the back of Charles's hand. They'd have to spend the few days being... very, very low key.

 _What do I do if I read he was responsible for my mother's death? _Charles asked as they were driven what seemed to be a half mile up the driveway through lush grounds.__

 _ _Turn your head while I deal with him,_ Erik suggested very seriously, letting his eyes flick out over the gardens. How... absurd it all seemed. _I have no compunctions against putting men like him into the dirt.__

There was a flicker of agreement until Charles answered _No Erik. I do not want you in trouble._

 _How can I be in trouble if I don't lay a hand on him? 'Man drops dead, having swallowed all spoons in kitchen in bizarre act of grief.'_ Erik smirked, twisting it lighter, though if he wanted to, it could happen.

 _Erik!_ It was an amused response and he was glad that he had brought a smile to Charles' face even if it was fleeting and gone by the time the car stopped. "We're here," he said unnecessarily.

It was necessary to convey the ominousness of it. Erik let go of Charles' hand, and popped the door open. "We are. And we'll leave in one piece. I'll get the bags."

Charles got out of the car. "Don't worry about the luggage. Henry would be most put out if you deprived him of his job." He nodded to what seemed like a line of staff who had practically materialised on the steps in front of them both.

It was surreal to Erik, who didn't like having his things taken away from him, or carried by someone else. "Oh. When I mocked you about Kent, Charles..."

"Yes, I know what you are thinking," Charles replied as they approached. "I don't usually get this treatment. They are upset and they become more formal when that happens."

 _You say that like they're pets,_ Erik mused, falling close into step with Charles as they walked up towards the steps.

 _No, just... they have their own sort of hive mind at this time.... they are Us, and we are Them. The behaviours settle with the Us minds mood. It feels much clearer now._ "Good afternoon everyone, I'd like to introduce my friend Mr Lehnsherr. He has kindly volunteered to help me deal with… my mother’s death."

That sounded more awkward in reality than it had in his head, so Erik kept it to himself as his mouth twitched a little. He smiled and nodded to them, still standing awkwardly beside Charles.

The staff gave him a look almost in unison, before a man stepped forward and said. "I will bring your luggage in Master Charles and that of your guest. Do you have a preference as to what guest bedroom we should use?"

"The one nearest my own please Henry, thank you."

 _They are giving me the full authority. I wonder what has been said. Kurt must have upset them somehow._

 _That doesn't shock me one bit._ Erik cleared his throat a little, still looking at Henry. "Thank you." Whatever it was worth.

"My pleasure sir," Henry said in grave important tones as he took the luggage.

"Young Mas... Master Charles," a woman stepped forward. "Your step-father is in the Drawing Room. He is expecting you."

Charles didn't show any outward sign as he nodded and said "Thank you Hetty. Mr Lehnsherr and I will be up directly."

Hetty, and Henry. He nodded, noting it to himself, because forgetting names was a bad thing to do with the help. "All right. Let`s get this over with, Charles."

They headed into the mansion and Erik hadn't really appreciated what Charles had meant by saying his family was rich. The opulence of the interior was significant and any one of the paintings no doubt would have paid for any and all fees at Oxford. They headed up the stairs and Charles seemed hesitant as he knocked on the mahogany veneer door and entered. Erik shadowed behind him, because it was all he could do -- be there for Charles, silent as a bodyguard because his rough accent was only starting to fade around the edges. And fade was a lie, because it took effort.

Kurt was standing by a window, with his back to them, no doubt for dramatic effect. He had a shock of black hair, styled fashionably, and he already knew the face from Charles's memory, before the man even finished turning around.

"I see you finally return," Kurt said with an edge in his tone. "I am surprised you could bring yourself to tear yourself away from your books. And who is that? He should leave immediately. This is family business."

Charles glanced at Erik and back. "Erik is here at my invitation, and has kindly offered to assist me with anything that needs to be done. He has been as supportive as you could expect from a member of the family and will no doubt be of invaluable assistance.

"It`s a pleasure to meet you," Erik said carefully, smiling as mannerly as he could manage.

"This is *family* business...Charles," the man repeated with veiled menace, ignoring the greeting. "Send him away."

Erik's mouth twitched a little, and he glanced over at Charles. "I'm afraid I'm not going anywhere. I know about you. I'm here for Charles's sake."

"Oh you know about me do you?" Kurt looked at him. "Lies, I suspect. It generally is from Charles. "

"There is no need to be insulting sir. My mother is dead, and I felt the need for support," Charles said.

He started feeling out at him, habitually, reaching for metal in his body, reaching as hard as he could after he didn't find anything. It was a comfort, knowing he could do something so invasive, even if it possibly drove Charles mad. No dental work, no body screws, just a faint, faint inkling that he could feel his blood.

Oh, that was new, and wonderful to feel, just enough that he didn't do anything, but kept the connection. It was lulling. "That's all I'm here for, sir. Believe me."

"I would still like to speak to you... privately Charles," Kurt said.

"Erik is privy to all my secrets," Charles responded. "If you wish to discuss something, you might as well do it in front of him."

"It'll save us time in relaying it." He was almost fondling the idea, the connection -- for whatever reason, there was enough iron in the man's blood to rip it right out of his chest. Or else he'd developed enough finesse to finally sense it. Charles gave him a sudden glance and it was possible he had let a thought or two leak out.

"Then I will be blunt. Your mother drank herself to death. It was her own stupidity and overindulgence that killed her."

"I'm sure no environmental factors were involved," Erik drawled. _I won't. It's just interesting. I swear I won't. But, I could._ For Charles. It was funny that even though they'd circled around each other, they kept coming back together. Maybe it was time to stop circling and just give in.

 _Don't,_ Charles said sounding unhappy, _Please. I just... he hates me so much, it is difficult to deal with. I see it more clearly now._

"She had been seeing a doctor about her issues for some time. Really it was only a matter of time before the silly bitch did something like this," Kurt said and Charles stiffened.

"You will NOT refer to my mother in that fashion," he said with a cold edge to him that Erik was not sure he had ever heard before.

 _Neither of us should,_ Erik came back, gently, trying to reach out and sooth Charles with his mind. "That, Kurt, is what I've been warned about."

"Oh the poor little rich boy who ran off and stuck us with his lush of a mother," Kurt sneered.

"Your wife," Charles pointed out. "You married her, we brought you in to our family."

"For someone you married, you seem to care very little for her," Erik offered quietly.

"Our marriage is none of your business," Kurt replied. "But this...is." He gestured to the mansion.

Ah. The last play at the land and the money, then. He'd try, quietly, and through the whole time, to browbeat Charles out of it, Erik knew. His mouth compressed into a line, and he didn't say anything. He didn't *have* to.

"My mother’s will, no doubt, will make her wishes clear," Charles said. "You might well have changed your ways and treated her better and she could have taken that into account I suppose."

Kurt scowled at him. "I will do what is necessary to ensure I get what is rightfully mine," he said with a definite threatening undertone in his voice.

"I don't think you will," Erik murmured, standing still, watching Kurt's scowl while he moved closer to Charles. What was rightfully his was a kick in the head, but alas, Charles wouldn't let him give it, he was sure of that.

"What is rightfully yours is what my mother decreed you should have," Charles answered firmly. "Have you made suitable arrangements for the funeral?"

"You insult me by suggesting otherwise," Kurt answered with a flair of temper.

"I`m fairly sure it was just a question," Erik drawled.

"If you say so," Kurt answered with disdain. "The funeral is taking place at the local church. It is taken care of by the funeral director."

"Thank you," Charles said rather surprisingly. "I will talk to them. I think there is a hymn or two mother would have liked to have in particular.”

He might as well pretend to be Charles`s personal bruiser. "Good. Is there anything else?"

Kurt gave him a strange look. "Not that concerns you. The reading of the will takes place tomorrow after the funeral. Our solicitors will meet us following the wake.

Charles nodded. "Thank you sir. I will not trouble you further."

Erik half turned, waiting for Charles to lead the way out. As long as they could maintain as little interaction as possible... the better. _That went better than I expected,_ Charles said as they left the room. "Here, I'll show you to the guest room. It's near my room actually, and then we can talk.”

 _I think we can always talk,_ Erik murmured, stretching his shoulders as little as he followed Charles. _I think it went too well._

Charles opened a doorway into a very well appointed... well, room was too small a word. It was a suite of rooms that were apparently his. "In here Erik," he said shutting the door. "We can speak now. There is no sign of murder in my step-fathers thoughts."

"However, one doesn't have to be a mind reader to sense malice." He crossed his arms over his chest. "I don't trust him. And maybe there's murder in your stepbrother's thoughts."

"It is true, but would appear she was found by the staff," Charles grimaced. "My step-father was elsewhere… entertaining himself."

"I'm sure he was." Erik glanced around the room, sensing the metal, trying to get a feel or things where with his senses so if something was moved he'd be able to place what it was.

"I'm not sure that Cain would have that sort of initiative," Charles said. "His father was not too kindly to him either. He hates me though."

"I`m less worried about what they have done, and more worried about what they might do." To Charles, subtly or otherwise.

"What do you mean?" Charles could be surprisingly naive at times. "If the will says they do not inherit, then they will not inherit."

"And you don`t think they`ll try something?" Erik moved, paced quietly around Charles.

Charles stopped. "Surely they would not at her funeral?" he asked. "I know they covet the wealth but, they would not at the funeral, would they?"

"Give me one reason other than propriety that they *wouldn't*," Erik challenged. "We both know I expect the worst of people, but I'm also sadly very often *right*."

Charles exhaled. "Perhaps you are right. I just find it inconceivable that... but you are right. What do you believe they will do?" Charles was usually so confident, and Erik didn't have to be included in his psionic field to know he was very vulnerable right now.

"I don't know. Not yet. So..." Erik shrugged his shoulders. "I'm not going to let you out of my sight." Which was why he was there, Erik supposed, and not Moira.

"That might be difficult as we are not sharing a room," Charles suggested. "Although I could...leave myself open or linked to you at all times in case I need help somehow. I should be able to defend myself though."

Technically, that was true. "I somehow can`t see you doing to another person what I can see myself doing." He`d taught Charles to box, partially because he wouldn`t, couldn`t lose control when sparring with him.

But Charles had already proven he might not be prepared for a direct attack, not because he couldn't understand it but that he didn't believe that it might possibly be happening. He imagined that Charles might stand there and be looking at his step-brother and not believe that he might go through with whatever he was planning.

"No, but I can just send them to sleep," Charles suggested. "Besides, I don't want you hurt either."

"You`re not going to hurt me," Erik promised, walking a little closer to him. "Here, I`ll help you unpack. We can talk this to death later."

Charles always reached for him when he got close, even if it was just a little touch to the shoulder. Now it was more needy, more desperate in a need for reassurance. "I am... very grateful you are here."

"It`s a pleasure, Charles." And he meant it honestly, leaning into him He`d be pragmatic, and Charles would have time to mourn.

* * *

Funerals were not pleasant at the best of times, but when you were a psychic, a telepath, they resembled something more akin to hell. The place was saturated in thoughts, memories, some good, some bad. Some unexpected wells of grief and pain and some absences of the same.

It didn't help, Charles considered as he mingled through the wake, catered for with no expense spared, that his extended family were all completely mad. Well, it felt like that. Aunties, uncles, cousins of his mother and his natural father were all rich enough that their foibles could be passed off as eccentricities. Right now though, he really didn't think it was appropriate for his Uncle Scott to be thinking about sex with cousin Marion up against his mother’s coffin.

Erik, of course, was finding the seedy underside of Charles family very amusing. Erik wasn`t a mind reader, but he did watch people, with a particularly suspicious eye, and he smirked a little as he made his own assumptions, often right, about the people around them.

And most of Charles`s relatives had their thoughts about Erik, none of them really complimentary.

"Uncle Jeremiah, this is my friend and associate from Oxford, Erik Lehnsherr," Charles introduced him to one of his natural fathers brothers, a man with a ferocious looking beard and a natural glare. Rather strangely though he had a calm, ordered mind, and Charles rather liked that.

"My pleasure to meet you, although under such circumstances, not ideal." His uncle said inclining his head. He even sounded gruff and brusque as if he was insulted but Charles could at least share the sincere thought behind it with Erik.

"No, it`s not," Erik agreed, shaking the man`s hand. His uncle was probably one of the genuinely better humoured people in attendance.

Uncle Jeremiah nodded. "A good choice Charles," he said a little cryptically. "I want to talk to you about that man." He did not like Kurt one bit. Hated him and despised him. "Husband or not he is not a Xavier."

Charles inclined his head a little. "I am aware there are tensions Uncle."

"Tension is a gentle word for it," Erik offered, lifting an eyebrow. He was scanning, looking for where Kurt was and where Cain was, and it felt paranoid to Charles but he wasn’t going to interfere with Erik`s natural way of handling situations.

"Your father would not have approved,” Jeremiah said. "It is your responsibility to ensure the name is protected from these jackals."

"You do not need to lecture me Uncle," Charles said with a hint of irritation. Where had they been while he had been dealing with living with these men? Through the abuse? Conveniently not acting. And it was conveniently. He knew it was easier to not act, to pretend it wasn't your business, because he'd spent enough time in Erik's mind watching the sheer, shocking inhumanity of man to other men. Enough time in other heads to understand domestic abuse, and recognize it in other people enough to understand it applied to him.

"And what are you planning to do? Have you done?" Erik asked smoothly, smiling as he said it, all false charm that *Charles* at least recognized as fake. Erik was at his most dangerous when he smiled, and Charles gently soothed him as Uncle Jeremiah fixed him with a steely gaze.

"We will not permit him to take possession of the Xavier ancestral lands."

"With respect Uncle, I do not believe that will be a concern of yours," Charles said purposefully being forceful. His Uncle respected what might be classed as rudeness in another.

"And even if it were, I don`t think you`ve done much work to that cause yet," Erik murmured, still pushing back, but not quite outright rejecting Charles`s attempt to soothe him.

Uncle Jeremiah snorted and nodded a little as if pleased. "Grief has not crippled you then boy. You watch your back, the pair of you. He will try something, you can count on it."

Charles looked at Erik. "He would have his hands full, believe me."

"We`re prepared." Erik seemed to be easing back at last, from what Charles could feel.

He could also see Cain weaving his way towards them. Cain was like a thundercloud in his awareness, fuelled by drink of some kind. Charles wasn't sure that his step brother was even going to bother to be civil. "Hello Chuck."

He hated that level of familiarity from Cain. People had to earn that sort of nickname. Erik seemed fine just calling him Charles and letting roll his name off of his tongue.

"Hello Cain," he replied blandly, not wanting to read his mind as it flickered with dark intense thoughts. His 'brother' was not the most stable of personalities.

"I see you finally turn up and bother to show your face," he replied. Charles always forgot how bulky and large Cain was. He would give Erik some trouble in terms of mass.

"I don't want to argue," Charles said firmly. "Not here and now Cain. It is not appropriate."

And all Erik did was step up to his side, slightly behind him, but Charles could feel him looming, didn't want to guess at what his facial expression was.

"Appropriate is all you people care about," Cain muttered. "You left."

"I went to University. You could have left as well Cain," Charles said patiently. "You still can." He was willing, if the money came to him to pay for his half-brother to go to university, just to get him away from his father.

"I`m sure you`d say anything to get rid of me," Cain muttered, "Like it’s that easy, Chuck."

"No, I`m sure Charles means it honestly. I`ll say anything to get you to go away," Erik offered.

"Erik," Charles said mildly. He realised with a rush that he could *make* his step brother leave but...what would that do? He could plant a command but it would not have meant Cain had changed. He had to want to do that. "If it is within my power, I will help you make your own life. There must be something you want for yourself."

It probably shocked Cain more to be asked that than if Charles *had* implanted a suggestion in his mind. "I..." Nothing, no ideas, no suggestions. He watched Cain's hands clench and unclench in fists. "You and your damn smart mouth."

He was spoiling for a fight, Charles could tell that. Erik was starting to step up his level of aggression as well. "Cain," he tried to soothe him. "I am not your enemy."

In retrospect that was possibly the wrong thing to say.

He felt the anger, before he saw it creeping across Cain's face. "That's where you're wrong, Chuck."

He had inadvertently given Cain a point of focus, and all that hate and energy was being channelled directly at him. It nearly made him flinch as much as if Cain has stuck at him. "You are my step-brother, we don't have to be like this. This is my mother's funeral. Please, don't make a scene."

It seemed to appeal to some sensibility in Cain's head, and he tilted his head as a prelude to turning his back to Charles. "Later." Later there probably would be a scene and Charles watched him go, nearly shaking with reaction. The capacity for violence in his step brother was palpable.

 _I wish I could just leave._

 _Sit down._ And Erik would sit with him, a half thought he could feel while Erik put a hand on his shoulder and started to walk him towards one of the chairs along the wall. _Your family's capacity for melodrama is endless._

 _This is nothing,_ Charles admitted as he sat down, knowing he would look pale and shaken. _They are being well behaved. Any other time, Cain would have hit me. He wants to. He wants to kill me but it's a hot unthinking rage._

 _I'm not a stranger to that concept._ But any time other than in a confrontation, Erik was calm, mellow, unshakable. Cain went off if you passed him, if someone sneezed, with no provocation at all except in his own head.

 _It's not the same Erik_ Charles said. _I..I know I said we shouldn't but would you mind staying with me tonight?_ He wasn't sure if it was for protection or comfort.

Or both. _Not at all._ Erik settled beside him on a chair, and looked out over the melange that was Charles' family. He could half-feel Erik turning over memories of his own family, eyes skipping over people and faces while his memories overlapped reality, as so often happened.

 _They are only here because of the Will,_ Charles sighed. "I suppose they will be here soon for the reading of the will."

"After that, we could go hide," Erik suggested, not entirely blithely. He shifted in the chair, stretching his legs out before peering over at Charles. "We might need to."

"I'm trying not to... react, but the temptation is growing,” Charles admitted. He signed and looked down. "I miss her. Despite everything, I miss her."

"She's your mother." And not past tense. Not 'she was your mother', because Erik understood loss as a present tense concept, while Charles' family had already shuffled his mother off to the annuls of history. "She gave birth to you, she raised you."

"At least part of the way," he admitted. Until she had started being unhappy, until the drinking. Then parenting had become an occasional guilt ridden thing. "She did her best."

She had been young and in love. Very in love and so badly hurt when his father had died. In some ways, Charles was sure that mental wound had never healed. She'd quickly moved on to the first man who looked at her, never mind he was interested in her money, and... And then a few years later, Charles had 'manifested' as they'd taken to calling it, started to hear voices and had spent a lot of time too busy worrying about whether he was going insane to worry about the abuse he was getting.

He'd spent a while wondering if he was hurting himself when he got flashes of his step-fathers feelings when he beat him down.

"Mr Xavier? Mr Xavier, I'm sorry to interrupt. We are ready to read the will," a man said and he must have been distracted because he hadn't picked him up. One of the lawyers.

 _Head table, then._ Erik snapped out of his reverie, and stood up, seemingly waiting for Charles. He’d probably sit behind him, still hovering in his own way. Charles knew how the will reading was going to go. There was no expectation that it wasn't going to leave everything to him -- there was just the question of whether he really needed Erik there to protect him or not.

"Please be seated," the solicitor said to everyone assembled. "I am here as a representative of Harris, Gould and Abbott to discharge our duty with regard to settling the affairs of the deceased, Mrs Sharon Louise Marko. She was explicit in her desire for an open will reading as she believed, in her own words, certain parties might distort the truth of her wishes and try to manipulate the outcome. It will not take long."

Charles settled, as much as he could, trying to not catch any stray thoughts. He didn't need the excess stimulation just then, and anything he picked up would only anger him. Erik was somewhere along the wall, still a palpable presence.

He tuned out the initial 'being of sound mind and body' recitation and even the first few minor bequests to staff and close relatives of sentimental things, tokens really in comparison to the enormity of the family holdings and fortune. He didn't start paying attention until the solicitor read the long list of the Xavier assets which seemed to go on and on.

"...and the properties in London, Europe and the United States, Spain specified below, the holdings, complete and entire, all stock options related to Xavier Industries and the portfolio of shares managed by Reston Brokers Ltd, the artworks, contents of all bank accounts, savings, bonds and anything of value in my estate no otherwise specified in this document, I bequeath herewith to my sole heir and son Charles Francis Xavier, in the sure knowledge he will allow it to prosper and to do what he will as long as it makes him happy, and the ancestral manor stays in the possession of the Xavier bloodline. To my husband, Kurt Marko, I leave exactly £20,000 on the proviso that he leaves the manor immediately. If he does not, he will forfeit this bequest."

Well. He could feel the dual spikes of anger from Kurt and Cain, and a mixture of amusement from his relatives and the rest of the family.

The solicitor cleared his throat. Charles knew that £20,000 was pocket change to the Xavier estate, but it was certainly enough to give someone a good start, enough to let them go wherever they wanted. "To my step-son, I leave £10,000 on the same condition that cannot be paid into his father's account but must be made payable to an account of his own, in the hope that he will find his own way. I have one final message to the both of them. You preyed on me when I was at my most vulnerable, and counted on the fact I would not shame the family name with a divorce. You hurt my son and myself, and I publicly denounce you now as a wife-beater, and an abuser of my son. Being dead shame has no hold over me and I make your humiliation public in the sure knowledge you will have to leave England forever. To my son Charles, I apologise with all my heart for making a miserable time even more of a nightmare with my weakness, and I know you will do the family proud and have already made me proud."

Well. That was a broad recommendation. The solicitor was staring down at the will, and then folded it up. "This is, of course, effective immediately."

Which left the gathered crowd to mumble to themselves.

Charles sighed. His step-father and step-brother were furious. Completely livid and there was nothing he could do to change that. To be honest his mother had been generous even if it was a drop in the ocean, and he suspected that was for his benefit so there was enough to try and get them to cut their losses and just go. She had done it quite well. Humiliating them, making it public, meant Kurt could not do this again to another, at least in the same social strata in England, because word would spread fast.

"I don't think my step-father is best pleased."

Erik was smirking a little, as he moved to stand by Charles's chair while the rest of the room seemed torn between leaving and staying for the after Will reading show. The smirk probably wasn't helping Kurt's anger, because at least Charles kept his expression schooled. "That would be an understatement."

“I think...” Charles exhaled. "I just want everyone to go now.” _Would it be wrong to encourage them that way?_

 _Not in my opinion._ Erik leaned a hand, briefly, on the back of the chair, and then seemed to remember himself and pulled back.

Upstairs with Erik was where he wanted to be. Just... together, sharing a spark of life following a day permeated with death. He had things he had to sort out, some particular gifts he wanted to share of things that he knew had happened since the will had been made and people who helped his mother who had not been recognized. So he let a gentle suggestion of the fact it was getting late seep out into people's minds and even a little sympathy for the grieving son who wanted to be alone. It seemed to work.

Erik watched, quietly. Sometimes what Charles was capable of bothered Erik, but it didn’t seem to this time. He watched, positioned unnecessarily protectively, while they filtered out, except for Kurt.

"You're not going to get away with it."

"I'm not getting away with anything," Charles said. "My mother’s wishes were fortunately very clear and to the point."

Kurt's mouth twisted, and he spat, "You have your mother's taste in companionship."

"Keep trying," Erik drawled, "Throw enough barbs, you might hit a target. You should call a moving company."

"In fact you should leave now or risk the generous bequest my mother made," Charles said trying to get a hold of his emotions. He felt ready to snap at them both and he couldn't do that.

"You'll get what's coming to you, Charles." It was a vague threat, and he didn't feel any plan behind it, just anger and shifting rage while Kurt turned to leave.

No doubt they would go and gnaw on their own livers for a while. Charles really didn't care right now. He was tired and he wanted them to leave. "I believe I already have," he said. "Please leave. I am certain a local hotel can put you up and we will make arrangements to pack your personal belongings and send them to you.

Not that he had a home to send them *too*. Charles watched Kurt hesitate for a moment longer, and then he turned on his heel and finally left. Cain just glared at him. "So much for your promises Chuck," he said venomously and followed his father.

"Thank God," Charles said finally. "I just want to go to bed."

"It's been a long day," Erik agreed, attention shifting from the door to Charles, putting a hand on his shoulder the way he'd wanted to do before he'd remembered the crowd.

The staff were good at ignoring them both, perhaps as they had to have been to ignore what had happened within the family. He could encourage them to forget but he didn’t think anyone would be coming anywhere near his room tonight.

He went upstairs then, leading Erik towards his room almost wanting to break into a run. He wanted... he wasn't sure what he wanted. Closeness, physicality, relief and a distraction all at once, maybe more, and Erik was watching him, staying apace of him as they veered towards Charles's room and then into it.

Erik shut and locked the door behind them, sealing the hinges. "What do you need?"

"I want you..." he said. "I just want you. I don't want to have to think tonight." He gave a laugh because that was all he ever did. "I want to feel alive."

It was like he'd given Erik permission, because it moved from closeness, shoulder to shoulder and then face to face, to Erik stepping into his personal bubble, kissing him hard, hands on his shoulders like he could tell where he was going to steer him backwards to. Maybe he could, seeing the world in magnetic fields with his eyes closed while they kissed.

It was somehow relaxing to let Erik do this. Quite often it was himself who had to initiate things, certainly at the start, as if Erik couldn't believe someone wanted to stay around for more than a night. He didn't believe people trusted him, and the first time Charles had invited him to do what he wanted, he had stared in blank incomprehension. Now though, it was hot and needy and he didn’t care if his legs hit the edge of the bed and he fell over. That was nothing.

It was worth it for the comfort of Erik on top of him, Erik pulling Charles's shirt off, his own shirt off. There was an overwhelming pleasure in the feeling of warm skin to warm skin, and sometimes Charles suspected Erik enjoyed sleeping naked next to him as much as he enjoyed the actual sex in terms of pure physical contact.

 _Oh God Erik, please..._ he begged mentally, unashamed of his lack of control just then. The sex was great and it pushed away the coldness. Heat and Erik's own overwhelming want washed it away, at least for the moment. He felt kisses slide from his mouth to his jaw, and Erik pulled away a little, mentally opening Charles's belt buckle.

He loved it when Erik used his powers like that and he considered, even as he responded, that one day he would get Erik to use his powers to have sex with him in some inventive ways. All he would need was some good quality metal and Erik would make it do incredible things...

Possibly not now though.

Not just then when it was urgent and needy, and Erik seemed torn between talking and kissing, slow open-mouthed kisses that made Charles wish naked was a state that simply happened without intervention. _What do you want?_

 _I want you in me,_ Charles said without hesitation. He didn't have the strength to follow through on topping tonight, though he had proved himself more than capable in the past and Erik more than amenable once they had breached the critical defences of trust Erik had lined up. _I need it hard and fast, something... like your fighting_ Cathartic, cleansing and visceral.

 _That's all I needed to know._ He kissed Charles again, hard, and squirmed out of his own pants, still pinning Charles down to the mattress.

There was something he enjoyed about the strength of Erik. Like he held him in a vast untapped source of strength. Sometimes he felt that way about himself, but right now it was all about the rush and hurry of arousal and the blood pounding through his veins as his heartbeat accelerated.

Erik used the eyelets of his shoes to pull them off, and his hands to roll Charles's underwear down, still pinning him hip against hip.

It was good to feel it tugged away and skin against skin finally. _You're very... ready Erik._

 _You say as if you had nothing to do with it._ He felt an image of kisses, and well it didn't take much for Erik. Not when the opportunity was presented. Erik's hands slid down to squeeze his asscheeks briefly before sliding down to his thighs. _I'll grab lotion or something._

 _In my bag. Like I would come without something._ The lid was metal on a small pot so it should be liftable for Erik. He amused himself by giving Erik the impression of multiple hands and mouths tonguing and kissing him as well as doing it for real.

The shudder that slide down Erik's spine as more than worth the effort, and distracted him during the delay while Erik sought out and found the little pot, pulling it over to the bed quickly. _Mmmh, much more of that and I won't see the night through._

Mmm, the thought of Erik doing all night was very enticing, and he backed off mostly all the way. _I'm ready. Imagine you are needy with lust...._

 _I don't need to imagine._ Erik sucked a spot against the underside of his jaw, opening the jar to slick his fingers. "I want you so badly."

"Then show me," Charles half challenged in a whisper waiting for those fingers to push in as he knew they would. He liked the idea of Erik being unstoppable.

He liked surrendering, giving in to something they both enjoyed, to the way it made Erik's breath catch like none of Erik's other lovers could. Charles felt two fingers sliding in, warm and slick, curling a little like Erik was exploring his insides the moment he entered.

It was only matter of time before he...there it was, a burst of sensation and his limbs relaxed. _Fuck, Erik... There, it's there._

So of course, Erik strayed off of it, and prodded forward of it, left of it, right of it, teasing him until he stroked over it again, kissing Charles all the while. Their lips were going to be chapped in the morning.

He didn't care. He didn't care, he just wanted to get Erik back on that spot and tried moving his hips, shifting as best he could to get an angle.

Another squirm and a lift of his hips, and Charles got what he wanted again, got the pressure of fingers against his prostate while Erik kissed him. The noises he made showed his happiness at that, more than anything, but he wanted harder, and more beyond the kissing. He let the edge of his need blur over as a hint. It was a suggestion, not a push, but Erik groaned like he needed to know, needed to be reassured while he moved back, started to pull his fingers back. "On your knees."

Knees were good, he liked a bit of that, something that implied Erik desperately wanted him. That was intoxicating in itself. He pushed himself up obligingly.

And it was a good position, kneeling on the bed, shifting, Erik guiding him and putting his hands on his hips, the touch a little hard. That was what he wanted, and he was caught up in the feeling while Erik positioned himself.

Mmm, strength, power, someone who could protect him. Secretly he liked that thought. "Yes Erik...yes..." Maybe it wasn't much of a secret to Erik. He pushed in, didn't stop, didn't ease in like he usually did, not stopping until he was root deep in Charles, his hips pressed against his ass.

It burned, it stretched and hurt enough for him to gasp but that very forcefulness allowed him to just let go. Relax was not the right word, nor was submit because it wasn't that exactly, it was more proof and evidence he didn't have to be in control.

He could hand it over, and it felt wonderful, letting Erik take control, letting Erik move his hips, sliding his knees further apart while he started to thrust. Erik was going to leave marks, he was sure, but he didn't care. The pounding in his ass meant he didn't have to think, his own cock was hard and heavy with engorged blood. He just had to ride along with Erik's thrusts. He just had to seep into what Erik was feeling, what he was feeling while Erik leaned in, panting against his back while he rode him hard, trying to drive him towards it.

It produced a loop, a feedback of sensation. Spurred both of them on and on. It felt consuming, desperate - one emotion from him, one from Erik.

The feeling of fingers gripping his hips hard enough to bruise, his back pressed against Erik's chest, the tiny feeling of purest joy Erik gave off just from the contact of body on body while he ground into Charles.

He was the easiest person to make happy in that respect, just contact and he was happier than anything. _YesYesYes_ he was mentally chanting as they both climbed towards climax.

He half heard the bed creak, but that slipped out of his awareness because Erik was sliding a hand around, starting to stroke him off. They would come together because if either of them came first, they would inevitably trigger the other. But he held off as long as he could until he was thrusting back at him as the climax hit.

Erik's fingers faltered, shifted, pressing flat against his belly as if that would steady them both while he made the last few thrusts before everything slowed down, before everything started to mute down to tiny spikes and pulls of pleasure. Charles could feel Erik exhale, a slow sigh, while he started to pull out. "Stay here. I'll get a towel."

"Mmm... that would be good," Charles murmured letting himself drop forward. "Fuck, Erik."

"I think that's the point." Erik's voice tipped up, and then the bed shifted, while Erik got off of the mattress, and he was getting a towel to clean up. Charles felt limp, boneless, and as soon as they weren't likely to get stuck together, he was going to sleep.

There was the faintest hint of guilt, while he laid there, that he had enjoyed it after his mother funeral. It was a bit late for that though and unfair to Erik.

"That's a sight I like." Erik knelt on the bed, setting an open palm against his ass before he wiped him with a damp washcloth.

“That was just what I needed." Charles felt the pleasure Erik was taking in just doing this. "Thank you."

There was no shame in letting Erik take care of him, because he enjoyed it. He enjoyed the closeness and protecting Charles and the emotions that went with it. He enjoyed eyeing Charles ass, even though he was momentarily spent, as much as he liked stretching out beside him on the bed. So much of the inside of Erik's head was spent on misery -- misery and metal and engineering designs, but mostly misery -- that it still struck Charles as strange that there was no room for melancholy in sex.

After all, Erik had room for melancholy in his coffee cup and with breakfast. But not sex, so it was hard to feel, to really *feel* guilty just then, about his mother, about his stepfather and step brother, about anything.

* * *

They’d set up shop in the living room.

It was easier than the sharper memories of studies and work rooms and kneeling in the dust of abandoned spaces in the attic while Erik vividly experienced the knife edge gnawing of claustrophobia without admitting it aloud. Better to carry old boxes of papers and family mementos and books downstairs to the larger open rooms for sorting.

Though, as far as work load went, Charles was willing to admit that it had been much more like an extended stroll down memory lane. There had been good times before... before the death of his father. He wanted to share them with Erik but felt like it would be rubbing in the contrasts between them. It was odd that he felt more comfortable sharing the painful things with him.

They were technically looking for documents for the solicitors to process the probate swiftly and without fuss. Most were sorted out but as they were expecting trouble, they had requested proof of everything. It was the sort of logical, practical thing Erik excelled at, but he did pull papers out and offer them to Charles, prodding him for the little stories that went with them as if he knew it was the properly sociable thing to do, the normal thing to do. There was a little bit of a sense of wonderment that this was Charles’s life, Charles’s history and then some, in those boxes. Objects of touch and texture, proof of status and of existence.

“Is this the family bible, or are they all this decorated?”

"I believe that is it. I haven't seen that for years. I think my mother packed it away when she remarried. " Did that mean anything? Had she had an inkling then of the type of man his step father was going to turn out to be?

"I often wondered why."

Erik unfolded himself from his cross-legged knot on the floor, crossing over to press it into Charles’s hands. “Perhaps, so one day you could have it.” There was a brief thought of two scrolls and the parchment between them, and a man with white hair holding them, and then it was gone. Erik was considering making tea with sugar in it. “I suspect there’s very little here that needs to be thrown out.”

"Mm. Rubbish is not tolerated in a Xavier house... but these could be labelled better." Charles hesitated. "You don't have to do this with me, Erik, if it stirs painful memories for you. Though I appreciate it."

Charles backed out a little, tried a little less to interact with Erik’s surface thoughts but he was always quite so loud once he’d let Charles in. He was always going to be an outsider, and he was always going to be missing pieces, regardless of what part of society he was in, and nothing could quite fix that. “A trip to the grocery store can do that, Charles. I’d much rather help you find the papers you need.” There were records of stock and bonds that Erik had already found that would be exceedingly useful in documenting what Kurt hadn’t brought into the marriage.

"I just know that my background here, well, it seems so ostentatious and ridiculous," Charles said smiling a little. "I grew up in a mansion and you had, well..."

There was very precisely no thought at all in response to that, and Erik leaned in to buss a kiss against Charles's cheek, lingering and fond. "I know what your nightmares feel like. Money doesn't fix anything."

"It should," Charles said, feeling a fierce conviction. "It really should. What use is money if it just sits and makes more money. It should do things, useful things not sit waiting to be picked off by vultures like my step-father.”

"Then come up with a plan for it. I'm going to make tea." Clear his head and possibly smoke in the kitchen, away from important papers. Dimly, Charles heard the doorbell ring, and Erik jerked slightly.

"The staff will get it." Nevertheless, he reached out mentally to see who it was. Last thing he needed was another distant relative crawling out of the woodwork.

Though, god knew if they were going to show up, it was going to be *now*, when he least needed or wanted them. But it felt familiar, and after a moment of thought it was clearly Moira's mind, concerned for him. "Moira? I was not expecting her to come. I wonder how she heard... ah, but it would have been in the papers."

"Moira..." Erik let that dangle, not quite catching on what it meant, and then no reaction at all while he moved to absently half-close a box flap. "Well, this just turned interesting, hasn’t it?"

It really wasn't what he needed, not now. No complications and this was a huge complication. "I suppose you could call it that," Charles admitted.

Erik had, carefully and with of small amount of deliberation, never met Moira, though he'd left a somewhat rude impression of himself with her by having skipped out on two attempts to introduce them. Once, he'd claimed that he was in Synagogue, and hadn't thought to say anything, and another he'd boredly said that he'd gotten caught up listening to the wireless.

"She's expecting you to propose to her sometime soon, isn't she?"

"Possibly." Charles was trying to avoid the subject. "I hadn't given it a great deal of thought." He was listening carefully to Erik though.

Moira was the upper-class woman from the British Isles who fit Charles's stature and social position and also had breasts, and sodomy was something still widely frowned upon except when soldiers were hard up in foreign countries and tea. He'd been about to make a pot of tea, and maybe he should just go to Eretz Israel. He was Jewish, the Law of Return said he'd be accepted, less fighting with immigration officers than England, because the job in America *was* going to bore him...

 _I can feel that, Charles._

 _I am sorry, I didn't mean to but...Erik, please, we need to discuss this. Don't do anything rash, please,_ he asked even as one of the staff opened the door to announce Moira.

Erik’s name could be a synonym for rash, some days, and Moira’s for patience and probing, pointed curiosity. She swept into the room, head a flutter with concern and some amount of expectation and more worry for Charles and now curiosity, because Erik inclined his head slightly at Charles, and uttered, “I’ll put the tea on, and leave you two be,” before brushing past Moira, who was still in the moment of processing that Erik was even *there* helping Charles sort.

 _Don't you go anywhere,_ Charles shot after him even as he rose to greet Moira. "Moira... I wasn't expecting you, forgive me for not being more welcoming." It was a little formal but there was a security in being formal.

That was a safe position to fall back on, and Moira either didn't notice or didn't think anything of it, as she smiled and charged right into the room to embrace him, while Erik lingered in the doorway. "I'd guessed you wouldn't have thought to ask for help in dealing with what happened."

He responded because... Well, Moira was lovely and her presence was comforting. "Erik has been helping me, very admirably. Though it is very kind of you to think of me."

She clicked her tongue gently, more of a tcht, and turned a little, one arm still around Charles. "Is this the Erik I've never met?"

Erik threw a quick smile that might've passed for charming if Charles hadn't known him so well. "The one and only, yes. Would you like some tea? I've been trying to escape to chain smoke and Charles keeps stalling me."

"Erik Lehnsherr, my close friend and companion," Charles introduced him. "Erik, this is Moira. I had hoped to introduce you both in more pleasant circumstances."

The smile turned more towards natural, roguish, as Erik finally stopped attempting to hold the doorway up with his shoulder, and stepped forward, hand held out to take hers. "Moira, it's a pleasure to meet you."

"It's good to finally meet you, Erik." The low bow and half a kiss to the back of her hand was somewhat over the top for Erik. "I've heard a lot about you."

"Two of my favourite people in the world in one place," Charles said with a smile. He loved the way Erik looked when he smiled. He counted himself privileged to see more of the real smiles than the world got to see. "Please have a seat... Erik, I can ask a maid to fetch tea but if you want a smoke, don't let me be the one to spoil your fun."

 _I thought I was leaving you to fawn over her in peace._ Erik shrugged a little, pulling away from Moira. "I'm not quite so badly addicted. I can threaten the potted plants on the monstrosity that passes for a back stoop later."

Moira started to relax, smiling at them both. "You two look like you've been busy. Now, I've come to help, Charles, not need you playing entertainer for."

"The solicitors are doing most things so there is not a huge amount to do save barricade the doors against some of my less desirable relations," Charles answered. "We have been searching for some documents."

And reminiscing, and Charles had spent most of it strolling down multiple memory lanes, but Erik was content to work in quiet, punctuated by the occasional remark. Moira was far more interactive. "Right. What sorts of documents?"

"Anything pertaining to finances or family relationships. Apparently it is all too common for long lost heirs to appear from the woodwork," Charles said, regretting that his ritual of almost-mourning with Erik was disrupted.

It was a funny, somewhat insular relationship they had with one another, focused to the near-exclusion of all others. "I'll just... take a box, and start, then?" And Moira seemed to sense it a little, perhaps, even as she moved to one of the many dusty boxes, and Erik re-picked his spot on the floor.

"If you wouldn't mind," Charles agreed. "I am afraid I have spent a great deal of time reminiscing rather than sorting."

"Oh, well, it'd be a shame to put all of this away again, sight unseen," Moira remarked. She was emptying her box onto the table, carefully pulling items out and... and perhaps it would be all right. Erik was quiet, fingers lingering over dusty pages as if Charles could feel the weight of their history through him, an open sensation.

An open invitation.

* * *

He’d finally escaped to smoke, though Erik wasn’t sure whether Charles had wanted him to not go outside to save him from Moira, or whether Charles truly believed Erik would walk out that door and not come back.

Erik exhaled, cigarette balanced between two fingers while he leaned his elbows on the stone railing out back. The backyard (could a property that large really call it a yard?) was big, but it wasn’t so ridiculous that it would inspire Erik with a wanderlust to go immediately. It certainly wasn’t going to swallow him whole.

It was strange to see this place and have the connection in his head from Charles' memories of 'home'. But that had stopped once Moira had arrived.

She was studying, she’d told him quite chipperly, to be a geneticist, to doctor in genetics, and it was a concept that bothered him on more levels than he cared to admit, that he wasn’t willing to quite touch – not the least of all because he and Charles were quite interesting specimens, not so far removed from Siamese twins and albinos in the grand scheme of things. An aberration, and he could almost taste the word in his mind when he inhaled again, before letting smoke seep out his nose.

He heard the door behind him open, and tensed a little because there wasn’t the precursor of Charles’s thoughts in his mind, and when had that become something he missed the feel of? When he smelt the waft of perfume he knew that it was Moira. "May I join you?" she said with the faint Scottish lilt to her accent. "Charles is organising dinner."

"I'm sure he is." He twisted a little, inhaling again while he looked at her. "Was your trip up good?"

"It was fine," she said. "Though it would have been better in company," she said looking at him. "I admit to being a little surprised to read about it in the papers."

Jilted, then, but he didn’t feel guilty. “Charles fell apart a little, and I didn’t know who else needed to know.”

"Oh, don't get me wrong Erik, I understand that," she said looking out over the garden. "Charles is very close to you after all."

“I’ve known him for a few years. He’s a good friend.” There wasn’t anything that Charles could ask of him that he wouldn’t do, he didn’t think. Erik was looking down at his cigarette, still lit, while he rolled it between his fingers. “I don’t think I would have finished my degrees if it weren’t for him.”

"He is inspirational," Moira said. "Never have I known such a mind."

He wasn’t, quite, able to restrain the undignified snort that escaped before he lifted the cigarette to try to finish it off. “He’s breezily brilliant.” The tone of her voice made him want to go to Charles’s room again that night, but now it was more inappropriate than it had been before.

"Like attracts like so they say," Moira replied. "I believe you to be... breezily brilliant in your own field. Charles is full of your praises."

“Huh. And yet, I still can’t beat him in a game of chess.” He turned, to better regard her as she leaned on the stone railing and looked not out over the garden, but at him.

"Well yes, he does have certain advantages," she said with a smile. "I would like to get to know you Erik."

“I don’t think you do, actually. I have a natural dis-inclination to your chosen profession.” At least Charles’s interest in Psychiatry was viscerally understandable, and he hadn’t actually tried to ply his budding trade on Erik, despite years of threat.

"My chosen profession? As a doctor?” Moira seemed surprised.

"With your focus in genetics. My history with the concept has been, how should I say, bloody?" He turned, pressed his back against the railing. The door back into the house was lead-lined glass, and it felt very good to his senses. He could see the lights inside, warm and inviting, but still preferred to stand outside while the sun went down.

"Ah, I see. Well I can understand that I suppose. I'm not interested in superiority, just in curing disease and abnormalities," Moira answered somehow not offended by his response. It was a smooth answer, yet it still bothered him.

“I’ve heard that line before as well. Aberrations, as well?” He inclined his head a little, and laughed. “I’m sorry. I do tend to pick fights when given the opportunity.”

"I noticed." She gave him an amused smile. "Is it a hobby?"

"Unfortunately for Charles's sanity, yes," he noted wryly. "He's dragged me out of more brawls than I care to count."

"If you expect me to be shocked, you forget my Scottish roots," Moira answered. "Your dislike of my vocation aside I am sure we can find some common ground for Charles' sake."

Her inflection was peculiar, but there was nothing he could do about it. “I suppose we should. It’s an odd time right now.” It felt as if whatever he did next would define the future, and he wanted that to have Charles, but it wouldn’t matter a whit if he couldn’t find a way to stay in the country.

"He worries about us. I feel it should be one less stress for him." It was all very reasonable.

He still wanted to reject it, and closed his eyes so he could easier see the house beyond in its wire-strung glory. “You’ve been dating him for quite a while. Longer than any of the other girls ever lasted.” It was a bit of a cheap shot, but Moira did seem to have a certain unflappable quality.

"I'll take that as a compliment," she said drily. "We are… very close."

"I don’t think he’s bought the ring. Yet." Erik twisted, stubbing the fading end of his cigarette out. Not much left anyway. “Let’s see what Charles has organised for dinner.”

"I suspect he is trying to rustle up a banquet," Moira said and she was beautiful, and bright, no delicate flower and in all her words was the implicit message that he would be allowed to be Charles' friend when she and Charles were together.

He felt his cheeks flush hot with rage or embarrassment, or both, and pushed away from the railing, eyes open again, throat oddly tight. “He does that.”

"Nothing but the best for his friends," she said turning to lead the way.

Waste of food, Erik wanted to say, finding himself trailing after her. It was as if someone had declared the results of a fight he hadn’t quite acknowledged he was in, and there it was. Moira Kinross in the lead, Erik Lehnsherr granted friend status if she were willing to allow it and that grated.

But Charles’s face lit up when they went into the dining room, leaving Erik feeling heelish.

"I hope you didn't mind the wait." Charles moved to politely pull out a chair for Moira. "Apparently we will be having beef Wellington for dinner. Speak now if there something else you might like because they will be serving it shortly."

His thoughts brushed gently against Erik's mind – a habit of Charles'.

“No, that sounds quite good.” He didn’t resist the brush, but he wasn’t particularly sure he wanted Charles to experience whatever bizarre spillage there was just then, because it was frustrating and everything seemed quite so obvious in how it was going to go. Erik sat down, across from Moira, leaving Charles the head spot of a table that was still absurdly too long, even with one more person.

Charles hesitated a little before sitting down. "It feels strange to be at the head of the table," he confessed. "Like I don't belong here. Everything feels a bit surreal."

"It's been a lot of change very quickly, Charles." His mother's death, having the house, having the money, the estate, and god alone knew what else they'd yet to find in terms of skeletons in the proverbial closet. So far, Charles's family had been a strange thing to him, foreign in more ways than he'd expected, mean to each other in ways he had expected. Expecting it didn't make it feel any less wrong to a man who'd, at least for a little while, lived in the same house with grandparents and siblings and uncles and aunts in shared support.

He was twisting a fork in his hand, absently while he watched Charles and Moira.

"You know that I'll help you any way I can, " Moira said reaching to pat Charles' hand gently. "This is a difficult time for you. I'm sure Erik will help you too."

Because Erik had clearly just been sitting on his ass since they'd arrived there. "Mmhm." It was, possibly, viable that he could walk to town proper after dinner, and get himself stinking drunk.

Charles was smiling at him and then gave a faint almost quizzical look even as dinner was brought in. "I'm afraid much of it will be tedious. Paperwork, solicitors, and so on. I'm not sure what I should do."

And Erik had suggestions, possibilities, because Charles wanted to change the world, and yet none of it could be said. Oh, it could be said *around* Moira, but that trick was for crowded rooms, not three to a dining room that could've passed for a small banquet hall. "It's yours to do with what you like. No expectations, Charles." No stepfather telling him what to do, no... weight of expectation. Except for what Charles expected of himself.

"Erik's right. There are so many things you can do. Medicine, research..." Moira suggested. "Or something else entirely. You have the finances now."

"I know," Charles said and sucked in a deep breath. "On balance though I believe I would rather have had my mother still alive."

Yes, and he might've projected it a little. Erik wasn't really sure, but he understood that in a way that hurt, because money. Didn't solve anything, and he'd told Charles that before and would say it again, but even if Charles's mother had drunk herself to death, she'd loved him, and that was something one just didn't throw away. Or want thrown away. "Yes. I can't say the same about your stepfather."

"No, neither can I," Charles agreed. "My mother had her revenge in a way."

"Still would've been better if it could've been done with her still alive." Erik tried to get himself to relax, to stop staring at Moira, to just eat the damn meal.

"I agree," Charles replied looking at his food. "Please, don't let it go cold."

"I was just contemplating the best way to attack it." He gestured vaguely with his fork, but did finally start to eat, glancing over at Moira again.

She of course was eating daintily. "It is delicious." It was all just empty words really.

The quiet was overwhelming, and uncomfortable, and Erik had an overwhelming urge to grab Charles and drag him off, or at least go outside and drink on that monstrosity being passed off as a porch. Stone railings indeed. _I hate making polite conversation. _His first words to Charles had been a comment about his baldness, after all. It just wasn't his character.__

 _ _I apologise_ Charles said even as he made some inane comment to Moira about the cook. _I am grateful for you doing this. If I were alone with Moira she would... push too hard._ _

_I'm afraid to ask at what._ He'd stay then, and continue trying to be a buffer between them, then, if that was what Charles wanted him to do. The fact that Erik wasn't joining in on the conversation wasn't particularly remarkable.

 _Tonight. We can talk later tonight,_ he promised even as he spoke pleasantly and honestly to Moira.

"Of course, I will return to Oxford to finish my studies," he said. "Somehow, now what comes after that is not as clear."

Hadn't probably ever been clear, but. "Well, of course." Moira laughed a little, picking up her glass with care. "I can't imagine you wouldn't."

"Officially I could assume authority of the Xavier business interest but... the world of business bores me," he said. "Though I might have to ensure I have the appropriate people managing the family interests."

"The better to let you stay out of it." There was no question for Erik that Charles would be able to tell if the right people were put in place, even without an eye for business.

There had to be an advantage to reading minds after all. "Exactly," Charles said exhaling even as he toyed with his food a little. "A certain way to lose money is not to be interested in it."

"Or to let someone cut a hole in your pocket." Moira tilted her head at him after he said that, and honestly, she was making staring at her all the harder to not do.

"Well yes, but finding the right person to manage my interests..."

"Who was managing them before?" Moira asked that, leaning forward on the table a little. On purpose, Erik was sure.

"A firm my father selected. I believe I will return and see what options we have." Charles sounded older and more mature than his age. He generally did.

Unless Erik was working hard to tweak at him. Ah, but women wanted responsible men, didn't they? And Charles certainly was. "I'll go, if you like."

"They might certainly take us seriously if there is the both of us," he said.

"Why?" Moira sat up a little, peering at Erik now.

"Because I am young and somewhat lacking in the manifest authority that will persuade them I am serious about my decisions."

"I look older, and more experienced. It's the hair." Erik tapped his own temple – it was something he and Charles had used to their advantage more than once.

"You'd be amazed at how many assumptions are made based on hair," Charles said shooting him a flash of a smile.

"I would think they would want to respect it," Moira said. "Our position if nothing else."

"Mmm, maybe one day I'll get a grasp of the British class structure. More wine, Charles?"

"Please..."

It was strange. When Charles looked at him, there was that connection, and when he looked at Moira, well... It looked like he wanted her.

It was going to be, Erik decided as he poured the wine, a hell of a long dinner.

* * *

Charles sat for a moment in his room. A long evening, confusing and pleasant and painful. He felt buffeted by Moira on the one side, expectations seeping out of every pore and Erik on the other already marshalling a prickly defence.

The relative quiet was almost a relief, but he knew if he reached out he could find Erik and Moira in a moment or less. The thing of it was that he'd never actually been in that position before. He and Erik had been on and off and on again, yes, but he'd never seen someone in the in-between who'd been so vibrant, so intelligent, quite so beautiful.

But then there was Moira who was intelligent and beautiful, kind and compassionate and everything that logic and society said he should desire. And he did, but. There was an absence of something. An edge, an… inherent Erik-ness. He couldn't even describe it, it was just the uniqueness of Erik he couldn't imagine being without. There was a connection with Erik, and perhaps it had come from time and constant exposure, so there was the possibility that it would be so easy with Moira in time, but... But. Certainly, Moira couldn't fuck him flat onto the mattress, which was a societal issue. And if they were ever suspected, it was a prison issue as well.

Never the less, it was not enough to deter him and he stood, hesitating. Should he go to Erik tonight? With Moira so close by? That was courting danger. He should go to Moira, because that was what he should do, logic, common sense, instincts pushed him that way. But something thin and persistent pulled him the other way. A whisper that he would regret turning left in the corridor rather than right.

It was bizarre, and firmly internal, not steered by any outside sense he could feel, except a lingering sense of deja vu. Technically, the best thing to do was to stay in his room and then hope Erik didn't poison Moira over breakfast.

He stepped towards the door and paused. This was all ridiculously dramatic for a simple night visit. It was just a visit. He'd said he wanted to talk, that was all. That was it, he'd promised to talk, so he would. Resolute he opened the door and headed to Erik's room, ignoring a split second of disorientation as if the world had trembled somehow.

There was dramatic, and then there was over the top, so Charles ignored it and headed for Erik's room to talk. At best, he expected to ratchet Erik's nerves down, so the rest of the stay there could continue peaceably.

It didn't surprise him that when he knocked, he heard the tumblers of the lock fall away.

He opened the door quietly, entering and letting it close behind him. "You know I could have been Moira," he said as he stepped across the room."

"You're not carrying a fire poker behind your back," Erik drawled, lifting a hand out a little. Charles felt his wrist watch shift. "I checked it was you, first."

"Very subtle. I did not feel a twitch," Charles said as he looked at his hand. It was trembling just a little. Everything felt just a little strange.

"Are you all right?" Erik stood up from the chair he'd been lounging indecently in. How on earth was he going to tell Erik what he'd just felt? Was it even worth giving voice to?

"Yes. No." He exhaled again. "I really don't know. Everything feels different and... well, I find that in these circumstances I feel need to be near you."

"Well. I'm sorry if I was an ass today." It felt sincere, and he stopped in Charles's personal space -- not pressing, just near, fingers down near Charles's watch. "Huh. Damn thing's stopped."

“You weren't," Charles said and looked at his watch. "Must be a side effect. Do you not like Moira?"

"She's very beautiful, and clearly she'd serve you as a better companion in the grand scheme of things, so no, I really don't like her on those grounds alone. I'm allowed to be selfish." He settled a hand on Charles's upper arm. "Anyway, I'll leave you two alone tomorrow. I was going to walk down to Kent proper and try to see if I have any other immigration options."

"...What if I don't want a 'better companion'?" He surprised himself but it was true.

"What if you say no to Moira and we go somewhere after you finish your degree, and you find yourself still wondering?" Yes, and he could ask the same question of Erik, except there was a thought in Erik's head, there and gone, of a necklace, and Charles was sure that the owner of that necklace was dead. Most of the people in Erik's memories were. It wasn't a very hard guess.

"You don't believe I want you?" The thought of going somewhere with Erik was attractive and he could understand Erik's resistance.

"No, just..." Just. Just that Charles still had school to finish, and Erik's options were to lurk in some murky immigration status, or go to America, or... Or get Charles to prod a little and make some office worker not dig their heels in so hard, which was an interesting idea. Charles could probably do it with words alone.

"I think after some time apart, I realised what I wanted, and then come back and realise that, meeting Moira, perhaps I missed my chance."

"What do you want Erik?" Charles said, in a low voice leaning in carefully. "Mmm?"

"You." Close enough to kiss, but Erik hadn't moved yet, watching Charles's eyes, his other hand settling at Charles's hip. "I want you. I want to see what you do in the world, and I want to be there to help, and I want to argue with you when I think it's a daft plan, and..."

"We could do that..." It was like a burst of reckless freedom. Yes why not? Why shouldn't he be happy? Why did he have to be who society expected? "We really could."

"Yes, we could." And Erik was going to be grindingly logical, but he could feel the warm delight in Charles's acceptance, even if his mind was trying to work out how much longer Charles was going to be in school, and if hiding was actually an option. Again.

"There is a balance between appearing normal and not being normal," Charles murmured looking at him. "As if being extraordinary is a crime."

"Sometimes, it is." Sex between the two of them, and being a Jew in the wrong political climate, and Charles could *read* minds, and Erik thinks if he ever gets the chance, he can fly; he leaned in, pressed his mouth against Charles's, pulling him in tight. Because if Erik was going to be criminal due to extraordinariness, he was going to damn well savour that which damned him.

Perhaps it was because he was emotionally vulnerable, raw and open but there seems something different, searing and unbearably sweet about that kiss. He didn't want to let go, not now not ever. "Not between the two of us..." He felt it wasn’t going to be the easy choice. Erik was not always peaceable to live with, but that moment, Erik holding him tightly, desperately, assured him that it was the choice he needed to make. Not easy, but better.

There would be, of course, the question of how to tell Moira.

That could possibly wait, as nothing is more important than what was happening just then. Erik was everything he needed, he was sure of that, not just what he was meant to want. Erik pulled back, but just to press his cheek against Charles's, still holding him. "Mmm. I know it's improper to go any further than this, but it does feel good."

"I don't want you to leave," Charles said softly. "But I don't want to stop your dreams."

He felt a frisson of amusement, and Erik's nose pressed against the edge of his ear. "Charles, I dream of a world where being extraordinary isn't cause to be put under someone's boot."

"I think that is a worthwhile aim." Charles relished the breath against his ear. "I would want to say I dream of a world where we can live in harmony without persecution. There must be others out there like us, and not all I suspect will be as moral as we are."

Or as lucky, comparatively. "Then, I'll find a way to stay here while you finish your degree. That's more than time enough to work on plans." To work out how and what they would need to change the world. Only Erik would rattle it off so lightly.

"Perhaps… We should look into what part of the Xavier holding could benefit from your engineering genius.”

"Is that nepotism, somehow, or worse?" Erik pulled back, but pulled Charles with him. If they sat, perhaps nothing would happen. He could return to his rooms, in the event Moira went looking.

"Oh I would not force them to take you on. I just believe one look at your work and they would be fools to not compete to have you," Charles said with a smile.

"That saves me from having to find a way to blackmail some civil servant," Erik drawled, and then he was sitting on the sofa, and Charles was beside him. And partially on top of him. "Which was, I promise, not my first solution, but possibly in the first five."

"You have talent Erik, not just with your abilities. You need to believe in that. I do," he said wanting to sprawl even more.

“Then that’s all I need.” He hadn’t let go of Charles yet, and it would be so easy to do something that would get them caught. They were used to utter privacy, and there was still the possibility that Moira would be curious and want to talk with one or the other of them.

He was tempted to just reach out and push those mental buttons to send her to sleep. But that would be wrong. Perhaps another time. He could kiss if nothing else, and Erik didn’t seem as full of hesitant thoughts as Charles was, welcoming the contact, the closeness, even if it meant clothes stayed on. Perhaps the night would end without anything horrible happening at all.

* * *

Charles had gone to town to speak with his solicitor by himself, rather than with his entourage, as Erik was starting to think of it, which left he and Moira. Again.

And a slightly different set of circumstances, as far as Erik knew.

He was chosen. That was the short and long of it. Faced with Moira the perfect match, the exact requirements that society dictated, Charles had come to him. He couldn't help but be secretly flattered and pleased, while being bemused. He still didn't know why, didn't want to know why, didn't want to ask or probe; Charles had made a discussion, and it needed no further investigation than that.

"Well, I suppose I should put the closed up boxes back in the attic."

"Aye, we should," Moira countered. "I don't think Charles will need anything else from them."

"No, not right now." Charles had everything he suspected he might need to defend the property on legal grounds, and he would need to return to his studies, soon. Erik suspected he'd be getting train tickets together for them both in the next day or so.

She gathered up a box. "You have been a great help to him Erik," she said.

"It hasn't been an entirely altruistic endeavour." He started up the stairs with his own book laden box. Up two flights of normal stairs, and then he'd have to pull down a ladder. It was harder to do by hand than it was with his abilities.

"Oh really?" she said following him. "I thought you did it out of... friendship."

There was just a hint of emphasis there that was suspicious.

"Yes, but it isn't as if I don't owe Charles a few times over. Hauling a few boxes is nothing." Even if it was going to take the better part of the morning. He wasn’t going to protest that Moira not help, that it wasn't lady-like.

"He has been very generous," Moira said. "He has suggested areas that he might fund for my research. It could be my big chance."

"What areas? Out of curiosity." He stopped at the last set of stairs, and then reached up with some difficulty to grab the cord for the ladder. He could ease the damn thing down a little with his abilities. Just... ease it.

"Mapping the human genome," she said. "Particularly with a view to identifying some of the genetic diseases. Can you imagine being able to identify and cure cystic fibrosis? Or what if cancer turns out to be genetic based?"

"I don't think that anything like that has ever been done before." It didn't quite sound like eliminating people to Erik. He gave the ladder a jerk, and then eased the thing out the rest of the way with his abilities.

"I know!" Moira had genuine enthusiasm in her voice. "There is some fascinating research that shows that some viruses can affected genetic material. Well logic dictates that this is a tool of sorts. There's so much to discover. It's like physics back in Newton's era."

"I think Physics now is rather fascinating. With the development of the atomic bomb, the possibility of atomic power..." So much was changing so very fast, and perhaps he and Charles were part of that forward spring.

"Both sources of great development," Moira said. "Charles is right. He said that the forefront of development needs to be in the hands of moral, principled people."

"There's no way to assure that's what's going to happen. Science has no morality clause." He checked that the ladder was stable, and then waited. "I'll hold it steady for you, if that's all right."

"Thank you," she ascended with her box, placing it carefully. "I believe Charles has a means of determining who is... moral. He is very talented in that way."

"Ah, yes? And what do you think that is?" He watched her struggle a little, waiting, wondering if this was where she told him that she knew what Charles was. Perhaps she was one of them, too? But here was no way of knowing, not for Erik.

"I'm sure you know why," Moira said. "I can't imagine you two being so close and not knowing."

"Mmmm. Yet I don't know if you know, you see? This is a problem. I have no way of telling if people are moral or not," he told her, waiting for her to come back down the ladder.

She laughed lightly. "The pair of us tiptoeing around the issue. " She reached the floor again. "It proves we are not telepathic at least."

He bent to pick up the book box so he could heft it up the stairs, and said lightly, "No, I'm not telepathic."

"But Charles... is," she said catching his eyes. "He is truly remarkable."

He looked away, and started up the ladder. "I'm curious on whether he told you, or whether you worked it out."

"A wee bit of both," Moira answered. "Sometimes in intimate situations he... slipped. Thought he was speaking when he was not."

"It takes a great deal of concentration." He set the box down, and then shoved it in, so there'd be room for the rest, before he started to quickly back down the ladder. "To not use an ability."

"Apparently so." She was studying him carefully. "Would you know that first hand Erik?"

The question was, sex or abilities? "I assume you don't."

"It is true I don't," Moira said. "But it explains his… attraction towards you."

Erik lifted his hand up, a showy gesture that was strictly unnecessary from what he could tell, and shut the ladder up into the door, and closed it smoothly. "I'm a different sort than Charles."

She looked no less surprised for half suspecting it. "Good God Erik!" She was stunned and stood there blinking.

"God has nothing to do with it." He was waiting for her reaction, though, waiting for reactions like he'd seen – startlement, stunned shock was one thing, and fear was another. Followed usually by anger.

What was unexpected was the sudden slow trickle of a tear down her cheek. "I never had a chance, did I?" she said in a bare whisper. "Not really. It was always going to come back to you."

And how did he respond to that? Tell her it was all going to be all right? Deny that there was anything at all? "Moira... I hate to say it, but I think it was something like a coin toss. But I was always going to be there."

"No Erik, I'm not stupid," She looked at him holding herself together and calm. "Even if I had won this... coin toss it would become best of three, best of five, best of however many until you won. I can see that now. I thought Charles wanted more than the idea of me."

"I know he values your friendship." But Erik was faltering, because he wasn't good at consoling unless there was something he could do. And as giving up Charles wasn't an option he was going to consider.

"I know. But in this competition, you have that ability to understand on a personal level that I will never have." She stepped away. "Do you very much mind if I leave you to the boxes? I need a little space."

"That's. That's fine." The best thing he could do was leave her alone -- after all, he did understand. The problems, the learning, the fascination of it, it wasn't an academic exercise for him, the way it was for her. And he was poor at giving emotional solace.

She walked away from him and it was oddly wrenching and anticlimactic. He'd half expected screaming and shouting, weeping and wailing when it came to a head. He waited until he heard her quietly heading down the stairs before he followed. Erik decided he would put the rest of the books away, and then perhaps go past her rooms or wherever she seemed to be hiding, and offer her tea. It was really the best he was capable of doing.

He wasn't the emotive one, he wasn't supportive but if there was one thing he had learned in Oxford, was the power of a cup of tea.

* * *

Monitoring the two mutants’ memories had been fascinating as both of their pasts were sketchy in details until they became more public figures. Dr Carlin felt privileged to be there. They were edging towards more information that was recorded and he was eager to see the reality behind some of the stories.

They were stories, after all, oral retellings, and from mostly underground events, though of recent times their doings had at least been semi-public.

Except the seemingly endless sexual encounters with each-other. That hadn't made the news at all, even if Dr Randall had spent a great deal of time staring. Considering the time period, they were unusually open about their relationship, but then Dr Carlin reminded himself that Charles could alter perception. A convenient skill.

At the moment, they were in Egypt, apparently investigating pyramids for unusual magnetic energies.

To the sensibilities of the time, they were good friends, travelling together, possibly Erik was in some slightly subservient position. It was all very much to Randall like some extended buddy cop movie which the viewer knew was going to end in blood and explosions. There'd been an argument noted on where they were going with time off the two of them had managed to arrange together -- Egypt, or the Himalayas -- that had set off a spectacular row.

Dr. Randall had suggested popcorn, until Xavier had caved. They were still investigating, and enjoying the culture, and Carlin had a few notes scribbled down to see if this was one of the key events. Key events were when they could start to try to manipulate them, subtly.

He remembered a reference to Egypt, but hadn't remembered a mention of Erik being there. Something about the inspiration for X-men. They'd see soon enough, but he didn't make the effort to call Randall over yet. He'd just make Carlin try to manipulate their powers again, and that really worked better under a trial and error pre-set test schedule than 'do this'.

It was fascinating in a way. Right now he just could not see how the two of them had become the enemies that the world knew about. Who literally shook the foundations of humanity with their struggles. Right now... Well, if they ever managed to get out of bed for more than a few hours at a time, they seemed amicable on every level.

Arguments peaked and faded quickly, and their scientific interactions played off of each-other smoothly. Charles Xavier was no slacker in terms of scientific planning, which matched the known profile. Magneto, though, was starting to reach the point where he could build without planning, manipulating metal at finer and finer levels.

The evolution of a gift like that was compulsively fascinating to watch. Of course, Egypt looked fascinating then with less of the intense tourist trade, and their ability to travel where they pleased.

It seemed like another vacation, so Dr Carlin missed the early signs that something was going on.

* * *

It would do no good to threaten to burn Charles’s pith helmet. He was using it as a target for every insect bite and attempted pickpocketing by small children, focusing his grumbles at it, and he knew it, because Charles had told him so at least twice.

"I thought you were the one that wanted to see the real Egypt," Charles said mildly. "Off the tourist trails."

"I somehow thought the pickpockets would be *on* the tourist trails." Charles hadn't let him *do* anything, and he was hard pressed to admit that he hadn't been inclined to any shows of force because she was a child. Charles had said something into her mind, and let her go.

Her circumstances were less than ideal, and Erik was of half a mind to see if she was still loitering around their hotel when they got back. Not that he had any idea what he'd do if she was.

"No doubt they assumed someone with such a fine bearing could only be rich and followed you," Charles teased a little, wiping his brow. "It is a magnificent place Erik. You can practically hear the history in every stone and grain of sand." He smiled a moment and closed his eyes, and then frowned.

It caught him off guard, when he was half way through laughing at Charles and suggesting they carry on, then, to the next stop on their self-planned tour. _Charles? Are you all right?_

 _There's something here, something big and old._ Charles looked at him. _It's looking for me. I've never felt anything like it._

Then asking him what it felt like was futile, and Erik stared for a moment, before looking behind him, as if that would help. _Physically out here, or?_

 _I don't know. Psychically it feels enormous... There must be… a body_

 _One hopes. Can you imagine a great psychic power without a body?_ Or possibly, seeking a body, and that made Erik wonder about some of the mummies that had been on display.

 _Maybe it is another like us?_ Charles suggested. _Living here, ekeing out a living_

 _Could be. Though I wouldn’t call most of these people ‘ekeing’ out a living. They seem quite comfortable._ Erik nudged his shoulder gently, so they could keep walking, look less suspicious. _Another of us, with a massive psychic presence. That must be unsettling._

 _Not unlike walking into a storm,_ Charles said. _I have no idea how to rate how strong they are. How strong I am. Perhaps they will be stronger than the both of us..._

 _Why does that bother me?_ He slapped Charles on the back. "Well, come along. We're off the beaten track, let's see that shop you were told about."

"Perhaps we will find a unique curio or two," Charles answered and started purposefully heading in the direction led by something.

That, that was disturbing, but Erik shadowed after him, frowning as he walked at his side. _Tell me if this isn't all right. I don't know what I can do, but I can do *something*._

 _I know. But I want to try and talk to whoever this is,_ Charles said, all business now. _There are so few of us, we should try and know each other._

 _Of course. Are we trying to lure them out?_ Erik pulled at his own hat, a fidget while they headed deeper into the market area.

 _Or announce ourselves,_ Charles said. He stopped suddenly. _We are close. Hello? Can you hear me?_

Erik waited, wondering if there was a response, while he watched Charles. If there was, it was nothing he could feel, but he stayed close so they looked like they could've been in conversation.

All he saw was Charles tilt his head and head towards a bar. "This way," he said heading into it. It wasn't a particularly attractive place.

“I'm not usually the one to say this, but isn't it a little early?" Erik fished into his pockets while they walked, pulling out a cigarette. Well, Charles knew where they ought to be headed.

"He's in here," Charles said as they headed straight into the bar they would not have looked twice at otherwise.

That had his curiosity up, so he shadowed in behind Charles. It was empty, except for a girl by the bar whose posture said 'Guard' to Erik, or even 'whore' more than it said wait staff. He wasn't terribly shocked that as they moved to a table, she stepped behind a bead curtain. The man that emerged rapidly did not look like how he imagined a fellow mutant to be. He looked like a caricature of a bad movie character.

“Greetings," Charles said. "I was wondering if we would get to meet you."

Erik leaned an elbow on the table, lighting his cigarette while he watched the man put his cane down and amble forward. "So you're the one I felt. I knew you would come. And who is your friend here?"

And that was when he felt the buffeting. It wasn't like Charles creeping around in his head like a cat, familiar, usual, it was as if someone had mowed the doors down. It slammed still, as Charles narrowed his eyes. "He is my friend. Like us, Ahmal. There is no necessity to be hostile towards him." Somehow he knew the man's name.

“I was just saying hello." The man pulled a chair out, and sat down, slightly across from Erik and slightly across from Charles, and he wanted to punch him.

Wanted to, and couldn't, couldn't even open his mouth. "You're powerful, Charles. You found me with great ease."

"You stand out like a beacon," Charles answered. "I was most pleased to find someone like us."

"I've longed to meet another telepath. Someone else who understands what it is to walk in human minds." And lock them down, it seemed, because Erik couldn't even flick ash from his cigarette, though he was still breathing. For the moment.

“Then I would appreciate that you show common courtesy and let my friend go. Is this your idea of what to do with your ability? It is not to harm others," he said firmly, tensing.

“Are you sure of that?" He felt the man reaching into his mind again, and Erik half pushed his chair back as if that was going to help. "Your companion has killed with his. He uses it to harm others regularly. How interesting."

"Stay out of my head!"

"And you have done worse," Charles was looking more than concerned now as there was almost a shock as if the probe had bounced into a steel plate. "You are not just Ferouk, are you?"

“No, but I think we could all benefit if you were to join me, Charles. I could show you pleasure and power beyond your wildest imagination. We're better than the worms that populate this planet." He looked so jovial, so serene, and Erik could hardly move, could hardly reach out. He was desperately sensing for metal, for something he could use to stop the man, to take him out.

"I don't believe I want to join any part of you." Charles frowned again. "And if you could make me I believe you would have just done so. This is not how we should use our abilities. To believe ourselves different is one thing, to believe ourselves better is quite another. It leads to slavery, oppression, destruction. It would twist everything that we are... which has happened to you. You will not harm my friend."

"So be it." He didn't move, but he went still, and Charles went still, and Erik could only move, only *just* move a little, reaching out to find metal in the man's body at last.

There was the dim sense that he was watching some titanic battle from a distance as Charles had to be facing off against the other mutant. In congruously, coffee had been served automatically to them and sat there steaming between them.

It seemed ageless, and after a moment, he regained another measure of control over his body, over his powers, and took it to mean the other mutant's... whatever it was, was slipping. Erik started to focus on the iron in the man's blood, trying to get a grasp of it.

It wasn't something he had tried before. Thought of idly but not tried. He wasn't sure if this meant Charles was winning or losing but... there was something. The impression of flame and burning, vicious and bright. And he couldn't just sit there idly. If he could at least wreak havoc with the man's body, sliding blood-flow around unnaturally, or away from his mind. There was an idea to try, Erik decided, focusing.

It was a small shift, just maybe enough to make someone dizzy, but if someone became dizzy juggling the equivalent of psychic dynamite that could be all that was needed. Just like that, a momentary shift and...

"I have you now." Another shift in the mood of the room, and Erik could feel it, like an insect walking on a piano string, tension and pricking just before he yanked at the man's blood flow one more time.

And the man collapsed forward on the table, nearly spilling the coffee cup.

There was sweat beading Charles brow and he could see a livid redness on parts of his skin like burns.

 _We need to leave._ Charles said and his mind and he sounded as exhausted there as someone who had fought for years in the camps. _The body could not take it._

 _We'll go back to the hotel. _Get pickpocketed again, maybe, but Charles looked tired, and there was an odd charred smell when Erik pushed his chair back and started to help Charles to his feet that put Erik's hackles up.__

 _There was a scorch mark on the back of Charles's shirt, the fabric blackened._

 _How badly burned was he? How was that even possible? He was unsettled because Charles had never taken his mind in a stranglehold like that. There had been no chance to defend himself. He could have been crushed in a moment and he did not like that vulnerability at all._

 _Charles was leaning on him heavily as they left the bar. _He was strong, unbelievably strong.__

 _I noticed._ It was hard to not pull back in reaction, because that was what Erik *did*, he went back to higher ground if he had the opportunity, he entrenched himself, he *protected*, and he'd never considered the offensive capabilities of a telepath too hard because the only telepath he knew was Charles. "He's dead now."

 _Oh god, I killed him, I..._ Charles seemed distressed. _Erik… if you hadn't distracted him, I don't know if I could have beaten him._

 _I pulled bloodflow away from his brain._ It felt odd and distant, or maybe that was Erik putting himself distant, and he could feel himself insisting that he didn't. Not then. _He was going to kill us both, Charles. Or, or I don't know. He needed to die._

 _I believed he wanted to see us as much as I wanted to meet him,_ Charles answered. "This is not how it should be," he said aloud.

"No, it isn't." He'd always thought, what about other mutants who hadn't had his and Charles's luck. What about other manifestations, what about the young people who were caught out publically, and murdered, or imprisoned, or otherwise harmed for existing. He hadn't quite thought about the other side of the coin. What about Mutants who murder? Who use their powers to do whatever they want? How many of *those* were there in the world?

"As many bad as good at least," Charles said. "Who's there to teach them how to deal with it? How lucky was it that we have become who we are?"

Erik was hard pressed to call it luck. It hadn't just happened, they'd fought and worked and... And. He struggled with it enough, with keeping a balance, with keeping himself focused. "We'll have to find them. To teach them."

"Perhaps that can be the purpose we have been looking for," Charles said wearily. "Perhaps if we intervene, then."

“Then the good might one day out-number the bad." They were closer to the hotel, and Erik fell quieter when they passed through the lobby. _Here, let me pretend I'm a decent nursemaid._

He could feel the thought catch in Charles' mind because he had to be tired to be letting that amount spill. _More than a nursemaid,_ Charles replied. _If not for you, well, anything could have happened._

Charles would've been fine. He would've been fine, because there was no other way for Charles to *be*, no other option, full stop. And he could smell, faintly, the burned skin, and wonder how bad the damage was and what would happen if it got infected, and tried hard to not think while they started up the stairs to their room.

 _You're powerful in your own right._

 _Yes, but... well the truth is, it was a knock to my arrogance,_ he said moving slowly. "Erik, we all secretly believe we are the best. You do, I do and I am content, and proud that you are the best at what you do because it is not my sphere of power. Then I meet him and... that was my sphere of power and he nearly had me."

"We get better at it every year," Erik murmured, stopping for a moment because Charles’s back *ached* and he could feel it bleeding over nestled as he was in that spot that was his in Charles’ psionic field. "The things I think I can do, that I haven't been able to test, because there's no... space big enough, Charles. You just need more practice."

On Erik, and he'd volunteer for it because it seemed a grim necessity. "That's just it. I'm... out of condition. I've never had to stretch myself before and can you say that you have recently?" Charles pulled himself together.

"No." Erik started up the last flight with Charles, letting his mind wander a little. "We've... been a bit aimless of late, I'll admit." It had felt good, though, to be aimless.

“We need to be ready for this sort of thing." Charles was practically falling towards the door.

"Then we'll be ready." They'd deserved a vacation from life, time to explore their world, though, and Erik wasn't going to regret it. He unlocked the door, and pushed it open, keeping Charles upright long enough to get him to the bed. "Lay down and I'll take care of your back."

And all the other pragmatic concerns they needed to think about.

Charles literally tripped forward onto the bed and lay there with a groan. "I will not resist... it is distracting. He did not hurt you?"

"He wasn't worried about me." Erik was sure the man could've stopped him from breathing if he'd wanted to, and that would have come next after Charles's death.

"Then that is something to think on. The balance of strengths and weaknesses," Charles said as he relaxed.

"I reached out and pulled at the iron in his blood. Slowed blood-flow to his brain," Erik murmured, pulling Charles's shirt off carefully. He was burnt, no question of it. He needed... gauze. Something. They needed to get out of Egypt, he was sure of that now. Maybe that creature was the only reason they'd gone at all.

"That is a truly amazing thing," Charles said. "But you should have something to prevent psychics attacking you. You are vulnerable to them."

"I'll consider it." He'd been focused on ship designs with the job Charles had gotten for him, and he tended to obsess with the things on hand. If he could just shift his focus... "I'm going to get a cold towel for your back."

"It would be much appreciated," Charles answered , his voice a little muffled.

Getting the flannel wet and cold was mechanical for Erik, because he handled his own injuries well, but the idea of Charles injured shook him to the core. They were gods among men, but they were still mortal, and Charles was going to be in pain and flaking skin and he needed to not. Not think about infections.

After all, Charles was alive.

* * *

Dr. Carlin noticed it before Dr. Randall.

Generally, they let the internal abstractions play on between the two of them, a self-sustaining reality that kept the risk to the facility at a minimum. Other than watching, that field was left alone until they decided to try to influence it when the memories were older.

Dr Carlin however usually made a point in studying the critical periods of his subject’s life and though some things were frustratingly vague, one thing was absolute. Charles Xavier should have been paralysed and yet there he was, walking around as if nothing had happened. And surely there would have been mention of Magneto being practically glued by his side.

But there he was.

"And how are our subjects today, Carlin?" Randall was only a little late to the lab, which was nearly a miracle.

"Still in the program," Carlin answered. "But there is something fundamentally wrong. It's becoming more and more obvious. Magneto was definitely not involved in the founding of the school."

Randall grimaced, like there was something amiss with his coffee. "Huh. Shouldn't he be off destroying submarines?"

"Exactly!" Dr Carlin turned to him. "Exactly my point. And though the precise circumstances of Xavier’s accident are not clear he was paralysed before they opened the School. And evidently he is not. We have a distinct alternate history here."

Randall stared for a moment, looking at the screen. "So. They're creating their own reality."

"An alternate reality. Which I suppose is theoretically possible if someone has spent a great deal of time reimagining critical points in their life," Dr Carlin admitted. "But...it's fundamentally unstable. It has to be, because the real memories will start clashing more and more with them."

"Why? I mean, why does it have to? Xavier is a powerful psychic. Maybe he's steering all of this." And if he was, then what? Then he could realise there was something to be steered, and stop.

"Because even if you want to stay in a dream at some point something will slip. Maybe it won't but do you want to be here when it does?" Dr Carlin said. "We should pull the plug."

"And then what?" Randall stood up a little straighter, like he was considering what to do, finally, in a serious manner. "Then we have no control."

"Introducing a conditioning program into an unstable mental schema is asking for trouble," he said again. "I have no idea what might happen." But they were under pressure to do just that.

"So, we re-break Xavier's back. Find a time where it seems right, and introduce it. Then we build the conditioning schema in. Or..." Randall took another sip of his coffee. "Or we can manipulate it further. We can do anything we want."

"It's not as simple as that," Carlin said. But it was a way to minimise the damage. "We can't do anything. But... maybe we could try that. Make it a random accident. Find a point where Magneto is not there."

"We'll just watch for the opportunity, and insert the event there." Randall seemed so confident, but it wasn't a matter of re-railing the schema, because Magneto was... there. Present, still entangled.

"Have we got any more information on what Magneto should have been doing in this period?" he asked drumming his fingers on the table.

"He was an insane vigilante," Randall shrugged. "There are news reports, but how accurate they are..."

"It's going to be difficult to recreate that..." Dr Carlin said. "Unless, they are so co-dependent that if we do endanger Xavier it might shake him up. I wonder if we can engineer an anti-mutant assassination attempt."

“That leaves Xavier paralysed?" Yes, except bullets weren't going to work, and that would've been so very easy to engineer.

"Yes. Maybe... ceramic bullets? That's possible isn't it?" he suggested. "That might be a way to knock them back into a proper timeline.”

"Ceramic bullets in the late 60s?" Randall took another sip of his coffee, looking over to the tilt-tables their captives were positioned on. "Why not?"

"I'll program a scenario, and arrange something," he said. It was all they could do. "We'll have to monitor closely."

“I trust you know what you're trying."

And god help them if it failed.

* * *

The necessary minutiae of running a school - even if it were more like a training camp sometimes or research area some days was very time consuming. Erik of course had no patience for paperwork and endless meetings and that fell to Charles by default. They had been open a year, and the temporary accreditation was being transitioned to a full one. The thought filled Charles with great pleasure. They’d survived the inspections and the curriculum inspections and the investigations that went with it, and classes could resume again in September.

For the moment, it was still summer, and the mansion -- school? -- was full of the havoc that five uniquely talented teenagers could wreck when told that they were expected to practice their abilities.

A safe haven, that was what Charles wanted to provide. Jean and Warren came from well to do families that wanted them to hide to spare them the scandal; Scott from an orphanage that had panicked and simply treated him as a blind child, eyes bandaged and almost atrophied from lack of use; Bobby from middle class parents in some stage of denial; Hank from friends of Moira, bright, involved parents who wanted the opportunities Charles could provide.

Erik was supervising a lot of reconstruction and development on the grounds, in addition to all of the math and half of the science courses, and that made him happy as well. He was being challenged and useful, and between the two of them, an idea had become a reality.

Charles stepped out of the building and resisted the urge to whistle. He glanced around and had a moment of dissonance when he could see someone in front of him but could not feel it. That was so *strange*, to see someone heading towards him, but no presence. Not even no presence, just a void, a hollow, a sucking hole, unlike anything he'd ever felt in his life.

And then he heard the sharp bang, hard in his ears before it sounded again.

It was like being hit by a truck and he went down, shocked and astonished as he heard a voice screaming out about how filthy mutants had to die. It was instinctive the reaction, the psychic call for help.  
 _ERIK!_

He was staring at the sky and he couldn't feel anything. Lying on a sidewalk to the side of a building after having left a quiet meeting. It could be hours before someone found him, hours without help, and he was bleeding. He was bleeding and Erik was how far away? Would he even get there?

He tried to focus but there were people screaming and running, still, shouting and... Maybe he should shout to Jean as well. _JEAN...ERIK, help me..._

It was very faint at first, and then stronger, the feeling that Erik was reaching back to him. _Charles? Charles, I'm coming. Where are you?_

He couldn’t help it, he reached and clung to that contact desperately. _Outside the Education Department buildings. I… I think I've been shot._ Blood was pouring, but the sensation of it seemed to stop partway.

There was a swell of anger from Erik. _Stay with me, Charles. Just, keep telling me what's going on. I'll be there quickly._

Oh, god. He was probably going to try to fly.

They'd talked about it but Erik had never quite done more than the odd controlled bounce across the lawns. He was feeling light headed and dizzy, and his breathing was strange. Who had done this? The same man shooting and screaming at people? What insanity. It didn't make any sense, and Charles could hardly hold onto Erik's mind, let alone reach out to the other man, the void who'd come at him. He could half-hear sirens, even as he focused on breathing.

And then, oddly, there was screaming all over again, and Erik felt close. Charles opened his eyes long enough to see, yes, yes, Erik was coming down from the sky, feet first, enraged, the air around him sparking with the smell of ozone, while Charles's shooter turned his attention towards him.

"Another fucking freak... you should all die! You plan to destroy humans and that means we should destroy you all first. Save ourselves!"

More shots then and Charles twitched. _Erik!_

He felt the pain, shuddering the other way across their connection, and then there was one more shot before silence. Erik was still standing, but his work-shirt was spreading blood. "Someone call 911. Please." There were other people wounded, other points of pain, and Erik was thinking about getting Charles to a hospital himself.

 _You're hurt..._ And it was getting difficult to hold a thought. Hazy, drifting, his eyes wanting to close. He wanted to reach to him and his hand twitched.

 _So are you._ And of the two of them, Charles was more important to Erik, a thought he barely grasped onto before the drifting pulled him under.

* * *

It was a miracle that he hadn't been thrown out of the hospital.

As it was, Erik supposed he was outed to the school board as a mutant, though if they could keep Charles's status a secret that was at least... something. It was unnecessary attention, but he'd been unable to keep himself together appropriately at the hospital, pulling his own bullet out and snarling at the staff and Charles wasn't there to reach out to.

It was maddening.

He had gotten used to that gentle touch of presence, warm and reassuring like a hand at the small of the back or a light touch. There was a space in Charles’ psionic field attuned specifically to him, that Charles left constantly open so they could talk or sense what was happening and it was just shut down. It had been some time since the urge to fight had been so strong in him. Not since Oxford had he felt that need.

He didn't understand how someone could do this to Charles.

It didn't make *sense*, and he was impotent because he'd turned the man's gun on him and made him kill himself, pulled the trigger for him, and yet there were no answers. There was no way to know what he was thinking except to ask Charles and Charles wasn't *reachable*.

Charles was probably still in surgery, and Erik had gotten himself released from intensive care so he could wait in a waiting room in a place that smelled of antiseptic and cold, for answers.

 _Erik._ The thought was shockingly weak. _Erik? Are you there?_ Either Charles was out of surgery or, heaven forbid, awake during it.

 _In a waiting room downstairs._ He tried to shield, as much as possible, the running concerns in the back of his mind. Someone had muttered about that 'superhero' group the fantastic four, but Erik had never been exposed to radiation in his life and wasn't going to have any of that. God help them if those people wanted to *talk* to them. _Are you in a room?_

 _I don't know where I am_ came the reply. _I think I am. Yes I am now. I was in a recovery room somewhere, now I'm elsewhere._

 _I'll find you._ The first thing he needed to do was ask a nurse, and try to not think about what kind of havoc the children were wrecking at home. He'd taken off with hardly a warning at all. Jean was responsible, she would cope in the short term at least.

He needed to be with Charles, that much he did know. It wasn't that hard to find him. There were not that many people willing to deny him the knowledge especially when Charles had him down as next of kin, even if they did give him odd looks for being out of bed himself.

It honestly hurt to be up and about and moving, but the alternative, laying there and wondering how Charles was, was unbearable. It was a non-option as far as Erik was concerned, so he rode the elevator up two floors and started to look for Charles's room. All the while, clutching tightly to Charles's bare mental thread.

 _Is that me or you hurting?_ Charles asked hazily. _I can't tell._ He must be getting closer, he sounded stronger.

 _I'm not sure. How do you feel?_ 621, 623, 625.... 627, where Erik stopped and pushed the door open with ease, not quite touching the doorknob.

Charles was pale at the best of times but then he was practically blanched white. He seemed to be attached to every machine known to man, but he managed to open his eyes when Erik entered the room.

 _Erik...you found me._

He absently closed the door behind him, taking a deep breath as he started towards Charles. Too many machines. "Hello." There was a tube down Charles's throat, and he wondered how awake Charles really was.

 _Did you fly?_ Charles was most definitely not completely coherent. _Fly all the way to save me?_

 _For all the good it did, yes._ Erik twisted a little, pulled a chair over to Charles's bedside. "The man who hurt you is dead. He shot two other people in his rampage. I suspect the police will want a word with me soon." They probably thought he was still in surgery himself

 _I should be there. I can't believe, I can't believe I let that happen._

 _What happened?_ He still hadn't gotten an answer from Charles on how he was. The man had shot him twice, dead center, like he wanted to kill. He'd *wanted* to kill. He'd hit Erik on the same line, though Erik had moved.

 _I'm not sure. I didn't read him Erik, it was like he wasn't there. Completely blank, like a cardboard cutout and he shouted about helping freaks and just...shot me_

Like a cardboard cutout. Erik leaned in a little, trying to work out where in all the tubes he could get a hold of Charles's hand. _All right. He's dead now. So._ So. So that wasn't the end of it and Erik knew. "I haven't heard anything from a doctor."

 _They are thinking I'm lucky to be alive,_ Charles said. _They are thinking that I will never walk again. I'm paralysed._ He sounded down and defeated. _They all think that but they haven't told me yet._

Erik slid his fingers over Charles's hand, thumb sliding over his palm, wondering if he could feel that. Jean had been in a coma, catatonic, when they'd had her brought to their attention. Was that Charles's fate now? _We'll find a way to make this all right._

 _I am sorry..._ Charles said and he sounded like he was trying to keep it together. _Obviously, I will not hold you in any relationship with me. It would be selfish of you to do so._

"Shut up." He pressed his forehead against the back of Charles's hand, eyes closed tightly. There was a welling sense of hysteria in the centre of his chest that he was trying hard to not let build. _I don't want to hear it. We'll do something. You're mine and I'm not letting something take you away from me. I can do... *something*._

 _I won't be going anywhere,_ Charles answered. _But...I don't want you to resent me. To hate me for trapping you if I am stuck like this._

No. No no no. _I don't care. I, this changes nothing._ The idea of living without Charles seemed hollow, a thing of dread, of Charles not *being* there to balance him... _I need you. The children need you._

 _The children... What is happening with the children?_ Charles sounded a bit panicked. _Are they safe? Are you safe?_

 _They're at the school. They're... I need to go back there. I need to call and make sure they're all right. I know the police want to talk to me._ And that part scared him quite a bit, because he'd shown what he could do. What would they want to do with him? Would he *have* to run? If he did that, then what about Charles and the school? _They don't know what you are, and I would like to keep it that way. For your safety. For our legitimacy as a school._

 _Stay here when they talk to you. You mustn't become angry for the sake of all of them. You were just defending yourself._

 _I didn't do anything wrong._ For all it looked to them, the man had shot himself, and Erik wanted to keep it that way. All that had been seen was him flying. They didn't know who or what he was. _You should rest. I won't leave here._

He stayed still in the chair, leaning into the edge of the hospital bed, still holding Charles's hand. Erik was a little hazy on how long he was there. The first time a nurse had come in, there had been a spirited discussion about him returning to his own room but frankly the nurse couldn't force him anywhere. And Erik had dug his heels in, metaphorically. He'd told her that he was fine, he wasn't leaving the hospital, and he wasn't in pain. Which was a lie, but as long as he sat still it was fine, and he wasn't interested in letting go of Charles.

Charles was actually dozing when the police came in, having been hunting for him as if he were some sort of fugitive.

"Mr. Lehnsherr?"

"Yes." Erik sat up slowly, trying to pull himself together. "Can I help you?"

"Detective Jameson," a shortish, slightly balding man said. "We've been looking all over the hospital for you. People were pretty alarmed you weren't where they left you."

"I was more concerned for Charles than interested in sitting where they left me." He slowly let go of Charles's hand, but he didn't stand up, because he was favouring his right side quite a bit.

"I understand you're not long out of surgery yourself," Detective Jameson said giving him a sharp look. "Up to some questions?"

"Why not?" Not at all, but he wanted to be left alone, and if Detective Jameson thought he knew what he was doing, that was fine.

"Well then," Detective Jameson said as he took a seat and his colleague stood by the door. "We've had some frankly...crazy reports, so why don't you tell me what happened."

"Why don't you tell me the crazy reports?" Erik asked, leaning back in the chair on his right side, careful.

"Oh, you flying out of the sky, somehow forcing a man to shoot himself?" Detective Jameson said diffidently.

Erik leaned on the arm of the chair, and stretched a leg out in front of him a little absently. "I didn't force him to shoot himself."

"So you did fly out of the sky?" Detective Jameson asked raising his eyebrows.

"Yes. I was worried -- Charles usually calls when he gets out of meetings." He was trying hard to not clutch at his side, watching the man, waiting for his reaction.

“So Charles not picking up the phone immediately was sufficient to send you flying?" Detective Jameson seemed a little sceptical. "Does that happen often?"

"I'm a paranoid man," Erik shrugged, finally reaching to hold his side. "You can ask any of the school board members. There's a reason why Charles deals with them."

"So, you are one of these… mutants?" he asked, glancing at Charles in the bed.

"Yes. Yes, I'm a mutant." He held the detective's eyes, watching for his reaction to come around.

"And what is it you can do aside from fly?" the detective asked a little sceptically.

"Do you actually think I'm going to tell you that?" He shifted, sat up a little straighter in the chair.

"Well, it would help me," Detective Jameson said. "So... you flew in, what did you see?"

"Charles was on the ground, bleeding, and there was a madman holding a gun at him, still. I touched down, and he *shot* me with little wasted time. I, I started towards him, and I think in fear he turned the revolver on himself. If you'd just seen a man come down from the sky, wouldn't you?" Erik was still wearing the clothes he'd had on, mostly. His shirt was a waste, but he had a hospital scrub shirt on that functioned.

"But he was not too scared to shoot you," Jameson pointed out. "Did he say anything to you?"

"I wasn't listening. I was too angry and distracted to listen." He would've levelled that entire block, killed them all, killed everyone inside of those buildings, and it was a palpable sensation, the weight of his strength that he'd been denying himself out of fear for what he could do. "I wanted to get Charles out of there."

"Apparently he was shouting anti 'freak' slogans." The detective said that while watching him closely. "To you and at Professor Xavier. Something to do with the School you two run?"

"No, not that I noticed.” He was going to leave the school out of it, as well, and just... stay calm. The detective could watch him all he wanted.

"So you flew down out of the sky to save Professor Xavier, got shot and the mere sight of you made the man suicide?" Detective Jameson asked a little sceptically.

“It seems so." Erik felt the edge of his mouth twitch a little. "You don't believe any of this. You think the witnesses are all lunatics, don't you?"

"I am more inclined to put it down as a mass hallucination," Detective Jameson replied. "Flying men? Mutants? ...uhhuh."

“Good. Go with that, then." Erik leaned back in the chair again. "My friend is paralysed, and the man responsible is dead. I could care less what you put on your papers."

"I have this inconvenient thing... called my job," he said. "Which means I have to pretend to investigate mysterious shootings and deaths."

"Well, I think you've pretended well enough. I'm tired and in pain, and I need to get back to my students soon." The sooner the man left, the better. His side was aching and he was holding together on a thin thread of hope in the fear.

"And if I decide to take you in?" he said. "Because right now I don't know how involved you were."

"And if I'm as involved as I said I was? If what I'm telling you is true, do you want to try to take me in?" Calm, calm and even, and he stayed steady.

Jameson exhaled. "If you are guilty."

 _He's got nothing,_ Charles voice said in his mind. _There's no proof of anything. He has eyewitness statements saying you were attacked, he's just shaking the tree to see what falls out._

"Guilty of what? Being shot?" _Very little has fallen out. How long have you been awake?_ He was trying to not look like he was drifting off, quick with Charles while he stared at Jameson.

 _“Not long. Still tired,_ he replied. _Don't let him get at you._

"We will be looking into this closely, Mr Lehnsherr," the Detective said.

"Look all you want. You'll find what I said is what happened." He was still holding onto his side, trying to not close his eyes and just will the man to go away

 _You need rest._

"That's all for now, but don't leave town," the detective said.

"I think you know where I live. I suspect finding me won't be problematic." He was tired, tired and drained and Charles was hurt, which made it easier to keep going.

“We'll talk again Mr Lehnsherr. Believe it." Jameson got up and headed to the door. "I don't know how much of this is true but if I find any of you have been wasting police time, I will make sure they regret it.

"My friend has been paralysed, and you're throwing around the words 'wasting police time'?" Erik shook his head, waving vaguely at the man. "Take your indignant outrage with you, please."

The door shut behind the detective and Charles opened his eyes through a few slow blinks. "You need rest."

"Probably." He slumped in the chair, focusing on Charles. "You're talking. You weren't before."

“I feel a little stronger," Charles offered. "I can feel... a little more."

That made him sit up, reaching for Charles's hand. "How much more?"

"I think I can move my hand," Charles answered still sounding weak but a spark of him was there. There was a pause but there it was, the barest faintest squeeze. "It's not much."

"It's amazing." Erik flexed his own fingers, marvelling at how much effort it seemed to have taken Charles.

"It's more than some believed I would ever get back," he said softly sounding exhausted. "Erik, you must rest now. Look after yourself. We need someone to be there for the children. Moira might help if we can ask her."

Particularly so someone would be there if the police *did* decide to take him away. "All right. I can wait until you fall asleep again, though. I've missed you."

"I know you are angry Erik, but, please..." Charles said, his eyelids drooping. "Please... don't lose your temper. I don't want to give them a reason to take you away."

"I won't lose my temper, Charles." For Charles, if nothing else. "Someone's going to have to move the bedroom downstairs, after-all. I don't particularly want to leave that to Scott and Bobby, would you?"

"A good point," Charles chuckled weakly and it was a strange near choking sound.

He leaned forward a little more, pressed his thumb gently over Charles's forehead. "You need rest, too. I'll come back tomorrow." And he was trying to not let the worry well up in him because that didn't sound good. He knew what dying sounded like, knew what every lung and chest infection did to a man, slowly. If Charles got sick as well as paralysed... That wasn't good.

 _Shush love,_ Charles mentally murmured, obviously feeling something. _I'm not going to leave you Erik._

Not willingly, no. He managed a nod that he wasn't really feeling, because if he *lost* Charles, if Charles died, he... Erik wasn't sure what he'd do. Some madman had targeted Charles for what were hardly even substantiated rumours in town, and he had *no* idea of the kind of fire he was playing with. "I'll call Moira, and tell the children that you're awake and responsive."

That at least would be good news, and they would be worrying themselves sick no doubt. And if there really was an anti-mutant militant group out there, then perhaps he should be considering protecting them all from now onwards.

Or he was. He was, but in a very different way from Charles. He wasn't good at *comforting*, and that was what they were going to need more than anything. Irony of ironies, the person best equipped was... Well.

* * *

Erik closed his eyes for a moment, just standing at the front door while he fished for his keys. It was evening again, and it didn't feel at all like it. He shouldn't have left the children to fend for themselves for a whole day. The amount of trouble they could manage to get up to in even an hour could be astonishing.

He shouldn't have been surprised to see them just inside the door , waiting as if they had been sitting there since he left. And what did he say? They knew something had happened, but...

Erik waited until he'd closed the door behind them, watching their expectant faces, the miserableness lurking in their eyes. "I'm sorry I was... gone for quite so long."

Jean predictably was the one that stepped forward first. "You're hurt and something’s wrong. What's wrong?"

He didn't know quite what to say, how to say it, how to say it and actually get the words out. "Someone shot Charles after he left the meeting with the certification board. He's, he's still in the hospital."

There was a stunned silence and then it was Bobby who said . "Shit..."

"How bad is he Professor?" Hank asked. "Can we see him?"

"Why would someone shoot the Professor?" Warren added. "What has he ever done to anyone?"

Erik grimaced as he started into the hallway, hoping that they'd herd up like good children and he could corral them into a common space. Possibly near a phone, because he needed to call Moira. "It's going to be a while before he can have visitors. Hank, you remember Moira McTaggert. I'm going to call her to see if she can help. Professor Xavier wouldn't want you all falling behind."

"How can we think of work right now?" Bobby exclaimed. "The Prof is in the hospital."

"Because we don't want to let him down,” Scott replied seriously.

Jean was quiet, which was never quite a good sign, as far as Erik knew her. With her and Hank silent, he knew they were picking up more than he'd said. "Quite. When was the last time you all ate?" Hopefully they'd fended for themselves, but it was possible that meant all the cereal and milk was gone.

"We're not helpless kids," Bobby protested. "Jean and Warren made burgers. They were pretty good."

"Good. You realise though, that it's my responsibility to make sure you're all fed and safe." And he'd left them, taken off without hesitance.

"Then can we have pizza?" Bobby asked. Charles made sure they didn't have junk food that often, just enough to make it a vast temptation when the opportunity did present itself.

"I think Professor Erik needs to rest as well," Hank said thoughtfully. He always sounded mature.

"No pizza. I'll make spaghetti tonight." He rubbed at the side of his head, but kept walking to the table where the phone stood. "Jean, could I speak to you for a moment?"

"Yes Professor," she replied looking a hair away from crying but keeping it back. She followed him over. "What is it?"

He waited until the others had moved on, probably to eaves drop. "I wanted to thank you for being calm and responsible while I was gone."

"I tried Professor," she said. "But, I didn't feel like it. And, things are bad aren't they? If Professor Xavier going to be okay?"

"He's paralysed. I don't know how bad it's going to be. And the police are probably going to come by to question me again." She needed to know what she was dealing with, as a whole. It wasn't right to keep any of them in the dark.

She was trying very hard not to fall to pieces, very hard indeed and her voice was just a little wobbly when she said "They won't take you away will they?"

"No." He reached out, patted her shoulder gently. "No, Jean, they won't." And they wouldn't be taking any of *them* away, and that was simply how it was going to have to be. Erik was willing to live with the humans, to *try*, but one of them had shot Charles and he wouldn't stand for anything else.

Heaven help them, they threatened his new family. He had built himself into this life and he did not want to let go, but he would to protect them all. "Then, you better not get ill because you haven’t rested," she said in an oddly mature voice. "Hank will look at you. He knows more about medicine than the doctors."

"I'm fine." He picked up the phone, started to dial. Moira... needed to be there for backup.

"Professor Erik," Jean said firmly. "After the phone call you will sit down. Please. "

The phone was ringing. "Fine, yes. Yes." It wasn't as if Charles was coming home that day, or even that week, so there was time to move things and prepare. And research.

"Moira McTaggert speaking," came the familiar lilting voice. It was odd but after they had reconciled their position Moira and he actually got on quite well.

Erik supposed it was his jealousy that had coloured it. "Moira, it's Erik."

“Erik, how are you? " she said pleasantly, obviously oblivious to what had happened.

He took it as a sign of how well he was managing that it wasn't there in his voice the same way it was there in his throat. "Not well. Charles has been shot by a madman."

"What?" Moira's response sounded like she was in shock. "But how? Who would do such a thing? I don't understand.

"I don't understand either. The man was... mad, stark raving. Shot Charles, twice, shot me, shot bystanders, I had to stop him..."

"But." Moira was uncertain. "Charles doesn't have an enemies! "

"No, he doesn't. Whoever it was was... Outside the school board meeting, and Charles said there was nothing there to reach. No mind, or, I don't know."

"Wait, shot you as well?" Moira asked, trying to keep up with the news. "Are you all right?"

"It, I released myself from the hospital. I left the children here along long enough. Charles was shot yesterday."

"The children were alone? Well, that settles it. I will be coming as soon as possible. If you have been shot and Charles... you haven't told me how Charles is?"

Erik leaned his shoulder into the wall, as if that would keep anyone other than Jean from hearing it again. "He's paralysed. We're not sure how badly."

"Oh dear god," Moira exclaimed again. "Erik, I will be there as soon as I can get to you both, I promise. Now take care of the children and give my love to Charles."

"I will. Thank you." It was a relief, that he could at least leave the mansion without leaving them unwatched, that he could do the things that were going to need to be done.

“In the meantime Charles will want them taken care of first, so, you'll have your hands full I'm sure. I will see you soon Erik."

“Thank you." He closed his eyes a little more tightly, and then hung up carefully. They still needed reassurance, and he was poor at that.

All the kids were still sitting there looking at him when he came back to them from the phone. Warren eventually spoke up. "When can we see Professor Xavier?"

"I'm not sure. A few days is likely. I'll make sure you can see him as soon as possible." Erik lingered in the doorway, watching them. They'd been living in the living room, which was appropriate -- it was scattered with books, papers. The TV wasn't on, but Erik suspected it had been.

"But what do we do until then?" Warren said. "We don't know what to do?"

Neither did he.

"We do what we would usually do. Train, learn." Miss Charles. Their English classes were going to suffer, but Moira could inflict new and interesting terrors on them.

"Professor Erik is right. We should try and work so Professor Xavier has nothing to worry about," Scott said seriously. "That means no messing around, Bobby."

"I may not be a mind reader, but I know when you're getting up to trouble." Erik folded his arms over his chest, grimacing when the muscles pulled tightly at his wound. "Moira McTaggert will be joining us. While she's not a mutant, she's a trustworthy friend, a researcher, and a brilliant woman."

"Aw come on," Bobby said looking downcast. "I was just trying to liven things up. Everyone was looking really down and I thought we could use a laugh."

"Whatever you've done, don't tell me. I'm going to grab something to eat and sleep. Please don't set the house on fire." Or ice it down. Or whatever they were going to come up with.

"We promise, don't we?" Jean said looking at the others.

"Professor Erik, do you need help with anything medical?" Hank offered. His ambition to be a doctor was well known and his intellect was such that it wasn't a ridiculous offer.

"Amateur medicine?" Erik gestured for Hank to follow him up the stairs. "Probably. I released myself against advisement."

Hank followed him immediately. "That was probably not wise," he said firmly. "If you need hospital treatment, I will be found lacking."

"I don't need hospital treatment, but it still probably wasn't wise." He started up the broad stairs. "So, do you think you and Scott would be interested in helping me remodel?"

"Remodel how Professor?" Hank asked. "What are you interested in changing?"

“I think... we maybe have to move Professor Xavier's rooms downstairs." Erik kept his hand on the handrail. That Charles had use of his fingers and wasn't in a heart and lung machine was heartening. That he seemed to be breathing hard was... not.

"Oh." Hank was quick on the uptake. "I see. Well I am sure all of us will want to help. I do have a lot of physical strength it is true."

“Architectural redesigns is a coping mechanism, I suppose," Erik drawled, because he was honestly imagining what he could do for someone who was going to be wheelchair bound or worse. But it was practical, and that was what he was there for. He was practical. When the going got tough, Charles liked to tease, Erik got organized.

It wouldn’t, was not worry as much as it was wondering, trying to grasp an impossible concept and cram it down into something he could make a reality. Charles was flesh and bone and he couldn’t fix that.

"We'll look at it Professor, but you really need to rest now," Jean said firmly, sounding older than her years. "We can look after things for a bit."

They were halfway up the stairs, and Jean was still standing at the bottom, watching. Saying god knew what to Hank, because Erik knew that she touched minds casually the same way that Charles did. "I know you can."

But it was still for the best if they didn't have to. If they could have a childhood, instead. He started back up the stairs, Hank shadowing him as he headed towards the bedroom he kept as his own for propriety's sake.

"If you would take off your top professor," Hank said as they reached his room. "I will examine the dressings and see if they need replacing." They probably did, but he did heal fast. Many with the mutant gene did. Charles talked endlessly about genetic vigour, so maybe there was hope. Or maybe they would come across a mutant with a healing ability.

Or maybe Charles would die, maybe he would relapse... Maybe, maybe.

He didn't do hope well.

He was still wearing the hospital scrub shirt, and it took work to shrug out of, his side pulling painfully. It had gone through cleanly on the left, ripping through muscle and probably nicking bone. Nothing compared to Charles' injury, and the mess that bullet had to have made. "He had ceramic bullets. This was no random madman." Ready for Erik, but going after Charles.

"This is disturbing," Hank said frowning as he prodded at the skin and then pulled back the padding to examine the wound. "Then it wasn't a crime of opportunity. How could they know where he was going to be, and why make a scene? And why didn't the professor hear them?"

Charles was able to hear the slightest hint of wrongdoing over long distances if it was in the Mansion. It was a question to consider. "He said the man was like a void." Erik held very still, looking over Hank's left shoulder, and trying to not grimace while Hand inspected the edges of the wound. "Empty. He's dead now, so we'll never know. I want you to stay alert. Jean will as well." Scott would, without needing to be told, and Warren and Bobby were best. Left to filter things on their own, and not be sent into a tense place.

Hank looked at him. "But that's impossible. The Professor can read everyone. He can read people in deep comas. They would have to be brain-dead to or...or shielded somehow and that's technology that doesn't exist yet."

"That we know of." Just because they hadn't personally invented it didn't mean it wasn't possible. He wasn't willing to meet Hank's eyes, because he was tired and Hank's careful exploration was hurting worse than ignoring it.

"It's pretty clean. Just needs a new dressing," Hank said. "If you can hold on while I get some, I'll just get it done and you can have some sleep. Jean is asking if you want her to bring food?"

"No, I'm fine." He'd eat in the morning, when his head felt clearer. For the moment, he leaned back on his hands, trying to seem calm and contained and well enough that Hank wouldn't fret over anything excess.

Jean would see to the others, and Moira would be there tomorrow to help keep a semblance of normality until they could work out how to deal with Charles and what functionality he would recover. In the mean-time, he needed to rest and plan how to find who was responsible for this and why.

And how to stop it from happening again.

* * *

Moira had arrived from Vermont very quickly, and Hank’s familiarity with her had eased the initial distrust and grind that he’d expected over her presence. Once he was sure that they were comfortable, after he’d searched the grounds – there was no way to secure them, too much wooded land and too many doors and too much open ground for them to hide if they had to run – he’d headed to the hospital to see Charles again.

The doctor, so calm, bored almost, had told him that Charles’s prognosis was not good. The first few days were very important, the doctors had stressed to him, and they were not going well for Charles. He was still breathing on his own, but they were supplementing him with oxygen; the bullet had nicked organs as well as his spine, there was a fever, and he was on antibiotics for infection. They’d taken him into surgery again that morning, so they weren’t allowing him visitors. He was sedated.

When the Doctor had said, “Did you hear about the riots in Greenwich Village the last couple of days?” Erik had stiffened, said no, he hadn’t been watching the news, and let it go, but it was message received quite clearly.

He drove back to the mansion in Charles’s too expensive car, carefully not thinking, carefully not reacting, because he would be somewhere safe soon, home, and he couldn’t go into the hospital and rescue Charles because none of them were healers, and Charles was dying. One seldom survived a gut wound that turned into a spinal injury, and it was madness to expect the laws of medicine to change because he needed them to, because --

Because there was a patrol car in the turnabout at the front of the mansion.

This was the last thing he needed. Charles always handled all this so much better than he did. But Charles was not there, Charles might never be there again and that was the last thing he needed right now was wasting time.  
"We meet again Mr Lehnsherr," Detective Jameson was leaning up against the car waiting for him. "I'm afraid there are more questions."

He shut the door a little overly hard, took his time locking it, and briefly weighed the fact that the front door was very near, and he was certainly faster than the detective. "Would you like to come in and discuss this over a cup of coffee?" Had he already knocked on the door and asked where Erik was?

"I'm afraid I've been told I have to take you down town," Jameson said. He shrugged. "It's not me that wants to do the questioning. It's all gotten a bit...political."

His stomach clenched tightly. "If you'll give me a moment, then. I need to give Moira the car keys." He started towards the stairs, not quite waiting for an answer. He couldn't think, couldn't let himself think because it was all going to go to hell. He'd gotten soft and comfortable with Charles's life, and the thought of living through anything like that again was one that froze him cold.

"Hey, wait.. Mr Lehnsherr, I can't let you do that..." Jameson gestured and two uniforms intercepted him. "I'm sorry, but we've got to leave immediately. Please don't make this get unpleasant."

He clenched his arms, and could've thrown them off of him. He could've thrown the officers at the door, but he hurled the keys instead, knowing one of them would hear the noise and get them. "I think we've already crossed that line. I haven't done anything wrong."

"There are people who want to talk to you, and let’s just say if I said I couldn't stop you, they certainly could and they wouldn't worry about innocent bystanders y'know?" the detective cocked his head towards the mansion his meaning plain.

"I know, better than you can imagine." The officers pulled him, and he clenched his muscles again but didn't throw them off. That they walked him like that to the squad car, and then twisted his arms behind his back to cuff him was an indignity, but a relief at the same time. They didn't know what he could do. He had time to assess the situation and they didn't know what he could do.

* * *

Carlin looked at the image screen and grimaced. "This is going to go badly wrong," he said aloud for about the tenth time since they had decided to up the pressure in response to their real life pressure for results. "It's too soon. And what you are doing to Xavier...you know, if he dies in this there is a strong possibility he might die in reality?"

"He's not going to die," Randall scoffed. "He's just sedated and the doctor's a homophobe. The rest is paranoia, which Magneto has in spades. If we don't break him, we're not going to get results at all. We're going to get the two of them playing out another twenty plus years of comfortable domesticity."

"You push too hard and you'll break. They noticed our programmed constructs don't have a memory thought presence, unlike the ones modelled on their own memories" Carlin fretted. "We've already altered Magneto's personality through this process. He's more studied about his responses, Charles Xavier has tempered him. You know as well as I do before if this scenario had come up he would have razor-wired the cuffs and those cops would be dead."

"And the alterations are seamless to them. Look..." Randall leaned back in his chair, and gestured at Carlin. " The best thing to do is to go with the flow of their new reality and make us their goal. We need them to come to Genosha for sanctuary in their memories. There needs to be a way to drive them there. If this doesn't work, we... we decide on something else. We take them back a few years, we stage something else. Either we do this, or we're fired, and the subjects will end up killed, because it isn't like we can open the cages at this point and hope they leave peacefully. Because Magneto will kill us all if Xavier doesn't."

"It's not as simple as that," Carlin said in frustration. "The more they realise reality is not real the less likely they are to believe it in the future. You are deliberately provoking Magneto into a breakdown and if they realise what is happening, it won't be just our jobs in peril. Do you have any idea how powerful they both are?"

"Powerful enough to destroy what Genosha was." Randall lifted his chin defiantly, jaw clenching. "Which is why they're here in the first place. But right now, being *afraid*, worried? It feels real to Magneto. And when we un-sedate Xavier, he'll be more concerned about being freshly crippled than anything else."

Carlin wasn't completely sure about that. Xavier lived in his head more than other people. What was going on with Erik Lensherr would no doubt concern him one way or the other. "Even so, the Fantastic Four are not going to make convincing villains. I know why you chose them, they are in effect unaffected by some of Magneto's classic attacks. How are we going to convince him that they are the bad guys?"

"Introduce them to him while he's on the wrong side of bars," Randall offered. "And have them suggest they join him, and past that, I don't *know*. We're winging it. We'll have to play off of his reactions."

"You reckon he's going to refuse? or join them. Because...." Carlin couldn't think of anything worse than adding Magneto to the Fantastic Four. Or Charles for that matter. "We'd have to get them to screw him over if we did, or practically treat them all like ...ah, depending on how he responds to them we could treat them as subhuman if he responds positively so he can see how much better it could be here."

"Exactly. They're a bit like rockstars to begin with." Randall seemed proud of this. "He won't refuse because he thinks some agency will kill the students. And fighting back would be an option, if Charles were mobile at all. But it's not. We have him between a rock and a hard place."

Carlin tried to force himself to relax. Put like that, it seemed that it was possible. Magneto would turn against the establishment and Xavier would need him and so follow him as well. Everyone knew they were inexorably drawn together even after so many years of enmity. In a strangely masochistic way it was romantic. Carlin was just grateful he'd never had a relationship where he needed contact so much that he was willing to forgive being crucified.

But then, these were mutants they were dealing with after all. They weren't exactly normal.

* * *

It had gone as badly as Erik had expected it to go. Intake had been not at the Westchester PD, but after transferring him to another vehicle that had driven for twenty minutes before offloading him into a bland looking building. They had told him to undress, to put on the jumpsuit, give his name, place of birth, occupation, Home address, mother's name, father's name, identifying marks. They made him Other, all over again, less than them, and while he could fight back, there were reasons to wait and bide his time.

There were Charles, and the children. There had been Magda that had kept him from giving in to despair, before her body had come to him in a corpse cart and that had been that. That, too would come, and he answered their questions staidly, presenting the 214782 on his arm when they asked him for identifying marks. The young clerk was too stupid to understand, a relief and a different horror. He was escorted to a cell that he could break out of if he wanted to cause havoc, and left there.

No explanation. Not even a soothing lie or two, which was very bad in Erik's experience.

He was left to stew, wondering what was happening to Charles, needing to know. Reaching out mentally just led to disappointment and concern.

He was considering what to do next when he hear voices in the corridor approaching his cell, as if there was a whispering discussion or argument going on. He wasn’t surprised to see a group of people standing outside his cell... and one of them very noticeably a mutant. "Good evening Mr. Lensherr," the older man said calmly, though Erik wasn’t sure how much older he was than him.

It was hard to tell, because he and Charles looked not quite their ages, and never had. For years he’d seemed older than he was, and then that process had slowed to a crawl. Sometimes he wondered if he and Charles and the rest of them were destined to live longer than the humans around them, as well.

Erik stood slowly, shoulders squared, trying to not feel the anger he was holding. “Why am I here?”

"The government has decided it wishes to make use of your services," the man replied. "I am Dr Reed Richards, this is Johnny Storm, Susan his sister, and Ben. We are also mutants."

They all seemed quite neutral as if assessing his reaction somehow. Maybe they were as wary of him as he was of them.

"No, you're not. You're a human who performed a science experiment on yourself." Erik stepped up to the bars, and placed his hands on them lightly. The sound, the feel of the steel against his skin was calming. "I know who you are."

"The science experiment was not exactly deliberate," Reed replied. "Not the part on us anyway. Suffice it to say we are in a similar situation with regard to our powers, and now use them on behalf of the government."

There was an expression on Johnny's face as if he'd swallowed a wasp or something as Reed spoke. Erik didn’t have to have Charles’ skills to read someone not liking the official bullshit.

"Ah? How good of you to make such a charitable donation to your government. Do they regularly threaten you to keep you in line, or do they bait you with promises instead? As you can see," and he slammed a hand hard against one bar. The woman startled at Reeve's side, her shoulders tight. They were scared of him. Good. "I'm here under duress."

"The offer is to...integrate you into the government’s mutant program," Reed said. "This will involve more freedom, and better conditions."

"Please consider it," Sue said stepping forward. "It's for the best."

He was trying to read what the hell their deal was. He wasn't entirely convinced that they were on his side, but could not imagine a group of mutants would be treated well because they were too different too other. What was this? Play acting for their masters, or were they the masters?

It was all a farce, because he could break out if he wanted to. He could break out, kill them all, and.

And Charles was in a hospital. He couldn't. "Integrate. And tell me, how would this go? Or do I already know this story? We do their bidding against our own kind? I keep the ovens hot, and do what they say and I'm allowed to live for another night?"

"No, they've got me for that," Johnny muttered under his breath and Reed gave him a sharp look.

"It's not like that Mr Lensherr. We are similar to the military. We are expected to obey orders but, in general we are the last resort," he said. "And in truth, if there are people you care about..." and here he flicked a glance to Sue unconsciously, "There is little choice."

Not the bright and happy superhero team they portrayed in the news, then. Erik laid his hand on the door, and the mechanisms unlocked smoothly for him. Best to not use any great shows of force and stick to parlour tricks. The door swung out for him. "Then tell me what I need to do. I have a friend who's dying that I need to get back to. If he does die, this conversation will never have happened."

"If he is dying..." Sue said tentatively. "Then his best hope of survival is for Reed to pass on that he is important to you. You can rest assured that the best medical care in the world will materialise suddenly for him."

"We will make this happen," Reed said. "Come with us. I will tell them you have agreed to train with us, to work with us with a surety for the safety and health of Professor Xavier."

It was maddening. He clenched his jaw, but nodded, and waited for them to move away from the cell. It wasn't such an unfamiliar situation, and he wondered how much they knew about him, other than the obvious blackmail material that was Charles's life. "Fine. Please, lead the way."

The walk was nearly silent although he heard Johnny humming the funeral march before Ben poked at him and told him to 'can it'. Eventually he was led into an elevator, and then up to what seemed like an improvised briefing room. The man in there was someone who Erik recognized - not as an individual but as a type. Career military, probably crazy and with a real reason to be wearing the eye patch.

"Colonel Fury, Mr Lehnsherr has consented to join our team," Reed said.

"Good. Welcome to S.H.E.I.L.D Mr Lehnsherr, I am sure we can count on your full cooperation and assistance in the security of the united states."

"You know, he might concentrate a little better if he wasn't so worried about his friend Xavier," Johnny said in a drawl.

"I did not ask your opinion, Storm," Fury snapped at him. "That's one mark."

That had to mean something, and Erik supposed it was a matter of time until he worked out what it was. He stretched his mind a little, feeling out the room, the locations of the cameras, the wiring. Assess, learn, and use it against them. He was stronger than when he’d been a child tending to a flame as a child, and when Charles was well.

When Charles was well enough, the Colonel Fury would regret he’d ever met Erik. “I want to know what you expect of me.”

"I expect you to perform such missions as we require. You will go through training, and investigation, and you will follow the orders given to you." Fury dictated. "We protect this country against threats, some that cannot be dealt with by more conventional methods. You will be our unconventional response."

"Some of us are more unconventional than others," Johnny said in an aside. "We weren't born with a stick up our ass."

"That's two," Fury said implacable and Erik heard Susan hiss. "Johnny!"

"I've known men like you, Colonel. I did what my country told me to during World War Two, I followed the rules, restrictive as they were, and when they were bored with putting us in Ghettos, they gassed us. I did not survive Auschwitz to *blindly* follow orders." He had a good solid lock on Fury, a comfortable feel for him.

"Do you really think we would put you in here without some means of controlling you?" Fury said. "Would you like me to demonstrate?" He pressed a button on his desk and that grip cut dead.

"It's a suppressor field," Reed said with a weary tone in his voice. "Your powers will not work in the affected area, I'm sorry."

"And you built it for them!" Erik snarled, turning towards him. That was probably how Charles's shooter had managed it, and dammit, the whole thing was a setup!

He didn't need his power to beat the shit out of a man, though it didn't seem the best time for it. "You'll be sorry." The rising anger was useless, mute, and he closed his eyes for a moment, trying and failing to reach Charles again.

"Nothing's going to happen. Even Ben's screwed up in this field," Johnny said with a bitter twist to his mouth.

He still couldn't feel him, and if Charles was trying to reach him he would feel nothing either. He might assume that he was dead. Fuck.

"You will return to your quarters and brief him on the rules, and I expect there to be a better attitude next time we speak," Colonel Fury said. "Is that understood?"

"Well enough." All he needed was a second before that machine turned on and it was his, when the time came. He'd never been good at being patient, he'd always moved fast, thought about what he was doing afterwards and that wasn't going to work this time.

"Dismissed," Colonel Fury said and the others turned and left the room.

"Hey, he must really like you, " Johnny said wryly to him as exited. "He didn't slap a suppressor collar on you from the get go."

They should've stayed in England.

"How many of you are there, and you still allow this to happen?" He could bide his time, but he wasn't going to do it laying down, waiting, or actually obeying.

"Oh believe me, they're sneaky bastards...'scuse my French Susie," Ben answered gruffly. "They've got us by the short and curlies. They got us under their thumb and they’re good at doing the trade offs. We've seen them carry through too."

"If it were just me..." Reed said. "But if I don't follow orders, all of them suffer." He nodded to his family.

"They like picking on girls too.." Johnny said glancing at Sue. "Unless they've got another irritating target to distract them."

Which Erik assumed was Johnny. He walked with them, and as they edged further from the control space, he could feel his abilities again, like a numb limb coming back to life. "Will I be 'kept' here long?"

"Depends how quickly you seem to toe the line," Ben said gruffly as they passed through a guarded area and through what seemed like an airlock. "Home sweet home."

"There is a room here for you Erik," Reed said, gesturing. "But perhaps you would like to come and have a drink in with us first?"

The look he gave him was somehow meaningful.

"Fine." It wasn't subtle, but Erik would play along. So he was under lockdown until they deemed him of sufficiently plaint good behaviour. Training and an 'investigation', and Charles was hurting and he needed to go home. It all kept coming back to that.

They all trooped into the room and Reed activated a device as they did so. "I'm sorry Erik, I really am. This is the only spot I could be sure they are not listening to us. We have to be careful."

He'd been careful all his life, and it apparently hadn't done him enough good. "How much do they, you, know about me?" He took in the room which looked for all purposes like a lounge.

"They know you manipulate metal. And that apparently you can now levitate using magnetism. They are not clear on the details and neither are we," Reed said. "You probably know most of our abilities. The problem is not just the suppressor technology which is... difficult to circumvent as it is genetically locked, but they are very good at playing to weaknesses."

"They get heavy handed with punishment. There were more of us at the start," Ben added.

Of course there were. "I think we can rectify that when I can worry somewhat less about my own situation." Regardless of how it went, and that was a disconnected, dismissive thought, but he had to. Practical, functional. If Charles survived, good. If Charles died, that was also a decision point. One that made his heart clench. The children were mobile, and bright, and they'd fight.

"Yeah, that's great if we have somewhere to go," Johnny put in. "But that's part of the point. No one wants mutants. Even "experimental" ones like us."

"There's Genosha," Ben said unexpectedly. "Buddy of mine slipped me the name of it when I came back like this. Told me I ought to run before people turned on me. I thought he was paranoid."

"Genosha?" Susie asked. "You didn't say anything before Ben?"

"Yeah well, what are the odds that people are people the whole world round?" Ben replied with a shrug that almost grated.

Erik tucked that away to remember it, and folded his arms over his chest, watching Reed's silence. He didn't think any plan would work, and he was the most likely to collaborate with them against anyone who threatened his family -- likely Erik, for stirring up decent. "It has potential."

"I'm going to need to research the place. I'm not going to take Sue...all of us into even more danger than we are already in," Reed said. "But when we are ready, I have the means to knock out the suppressor for a short period of time. Long enough anyway. We'll have to come up with a means of removing the collars they make us wear on missions."

"I'm an engineer. A very good one." Perhaps not as good as Reed, but he had the knack, he had the skills and the background and years of practice making things out of whole cloth because none of the components existed anywhere but his own mind. "I can help you."

"That would be very much appreciated. There is only so much I can do..." Reed replied sound a little brighter than before.

"Which leaves me on distraction detail again," Johnny said.

"Johnny, you're pushing them too much," Sue said. "One more mark and you'll be down for a punishment detail again."

"Relax sis, playing with fire is what I do best," Johnny said with a smile, but his eyes were dark and bitter.

"I've done this before. They won't believe I'm willing to play along until they've had to beat me down at least once. You have to give them the satisfaction of thinking they've taught you a lesson." Then he could feign reformed and appropriately scared. Otherwise they'd never believe it, never let him go home. "Tell me what needs to be done."

"What, to get a smack down? Just mouth off, show a bit of attitude," Johnny said. "They'll be looking for an excuse to do it anyway. Same sorta reason."

"Yes, but what do you gain from it? You called it distraction detail." Erik inclined his head a little.

"I get to protect my sister, take the heat off of her..." Johnny said. "To them I'm a mouthy kid, so my punishments aren't as bad as what they did to Reed and Ben." He shrugged. "I can handle it."

They could probably handle it, too, but. Erik looked at them, mouth a tight line. That they hadn't broken free yet was madness, that this system was still standing. "All right. What is the training and 'investigation'?"

"Creative ways to use your abilities in combat situations, and lots of science and blood tests," Sue Storm said. "Do you really think we can get out of here? They nearly killed Ben the last time we tried and he's almost impossible to kill."

"Yes. I think we can." Erik kept his eyes focused Reed. "We just need to plan. The risk of not trying is too great -- what new reason will they devise to try to kill you when the urge strikes them again?" Erik asked with a nod to Ben's rocky, but oddly open expression.

It was all too familiar to him, and for a moment he was standing in the barracks, pressed in close to the corner to whisper and hide gunpowder for the destruction of the crematorium. It was a strange moment, and he blinked. "I can't believe I'm doing this again."

"Doing what?" Johnny asked sounding confused. Of course he'd never had to explain to Charles, Charles always just knew and maybe that was why they worked because he didn't have to probe those old painful memories with words.

"I was a Sonderkommando in Auschwitz. I had been there over a year when we revolted in fall of 44." Twenty five years, an eternity to someone like Johnny, who was maybe that old if he was lucky. "We stored gunpowder, blew up one of the Crematoriums, made grenades. Killed just three guards. Some of us ran through the wires in the confusion and survived. They liquidated the rest of the Sonderkommando that night." And the lesson was to fight back, still. Despite the loss, despite the failure. "Better to fight than to live in hell."

Johnny was nodding. "Exactly!" he said looking at Reed. "It's worth the risk Doc. They're using us, I don't want to be responsible for harming innocent lives for all they say they are terrorists and criminals."

"If we can find a safe haven, then we can try," Reed said cautiously. "There was little point in escaping when there was nowhere we could go that they could not reach. But if Genosha is a safe haven..."

"Yeah well, don't hold your breath," Ben said.

"I've become accustomed to living a free life. I can work with you all and help *all* of us escape. Or I can do it on my own and cause all of you to suffer the consequences. I would rather work to get everyone who's in this facility out." And there had to be more than the five of them, which was a nauseating fact.

"What about your friend though?" Sue asked. "They will probably bring him to the facility at least to start with. They will want him close."

"I have to wait until he's... healthier." Erik closed his eyes for a moment, because the last place he  
wanted Charles was *there*. He wanted him safe at the school, and that would be too much to ask for, it seemed. "Until he's stable. The doctors were quite sure he was going to remain paralysed."

"Then that will have to be factored in," Reed said and sighed. "Just... don't do anything rash Erik, please."

"I'll try not to." Because it seemed that getting home anytime soon wasn't going to be an option.

* * *

Charles hated drugs, hated the way they made his mind feel fuzzy and unreal. To him, it was as bad as having his arms paralysed, or his legs. He felt he could say that now without it being hyperbole, knowing that he was paralysed from the waist down. He supposed he should be grateful the best doctors had been able to restore that much functionality and responsiveness and they talked a good line in miracles and some of them half believed it, but he knew it was unlikely to improve much more.

The problem was he had no idea where he was when the haze cleared from his mind, and how long he had been out and more to the point, where the hell Erik was and why he wasn't there. Tentatively he reached out, while still maintaining the fiction of semi consciousness.

His presence wasn't there the first time he reached out for Erik, and that was concerning. He wasn't sure if there had been damage done to his powers, somehow, and he reached for Erik again. The only other option was that Erik was dead, and that wasn't. Really an option.

 _Erik? Erik, where are you?_ he projected again, louder this time. He pushed hard, flexing some of his strength. _Can you hear me? Erik, I can't find you, I...don't know where I am?_

There was nothing immediately noticeable, and he felt rising panic for a moment before Erik finally reached back. _Charles? You must not let them find out you're a mutant. There are cameras everywhere here._ With it came a wash of tension, a tightly wound feeling. _How long have you been awake?_

 _I have not yet opened my eyes. I think I have been drugged for some time, I haven't been able to feel anything. What is happening? I.. .I don't understand?_ He was very confused. Why would Erik feel like that?

Erik hadn't felt like that in years.

 _We're in a government holding facility. I've been volunteered to serve the government, and they're using you as the collateral to keep me here. It's been three weeks. I don't know if the children are well._ It was very cut and dry, like Erik was walking down a checklist, with an underlying edge of misery tamped down at the edges. _They're holding the 'Fantastic four' under similar conditions. I'm still working out how many others there are and have been in this facility._

Charles cautiously cast his thoughts around. _Sixteen that I can probe from here. I haven't gone into detail, just in case there is another like me_ he supplied. _The Government have us? I will try and reach Jean soon._

 _They need to disappear. Or go back home if they can. Warren's family could protect them..._ It was reaching for strings, but that desperation felt stringent and somewhat hysterical as he reached back for Charles. _They have blockers to control us._

Charles nearly gave himself away in his surprise. _I will work on it. I will... maybe I can do the sleep trick on more than one person. Erik...how are you? What have they done to you? Are you okay?_

There was no response for a moment, and bits and pieces of spill over. He could feel the tangled up splotches of old memories, freshly handled and pulled up for contemplation. He could smell burning skin. _They set this up, Charles. They had you shot._

 _I was shot to do this? To get to you?_ Charles knew his heart rate was accelerating. He wouldn't be able to conceal that he was conscious soon. _Are you hurt Erik? I can feel something._

 _I'm fine. I'm up for 'punishment' this afternoon as I wasn't performing well enough in training._ The undercurrent of nerves was palpable. _I've done this once, Charles. I don't think I can do this again._

 _Let me into your mind, I can help you. I need to see you, feel you. You don't need your shields with me. I've been alone in my mind too long._ Charles pleaded and he knew he was being desperate for contact, but Erik needed it too.

They were in such constant, easy contact, and this separation, those walls, felt strange, jarring to Charles. It took a moment, and they slipped together slowly, haltingly settling back into the habit of what had been a life time. Erik was concerned, scared -- for Charles, for the children, for other mutants, and it mingled up with that knowledge that he'd done it before, he'd been the person who had to work against his own to survive and he didn't want to do it again, but he had to, they'd gone on one mission and when he'd been told to terminate a target he hadn't, because it was just someone who needed better control, who needed someone like Charles to talk them around and show them how things could be. Just someone like Scott, with a power that was hard to control without technology, and if they got a hold of Scott, he didn't know what would happen.

And then the shields fell away entirely, and Charles felt the oddest sensation, like the background humming that was always in Erik's mind, that sense of metal he was constantly connected to, shut down. _I don't know what they're going to do. I think you would be better if you just. Rested. Instead._

 _No._ Charles said immediately. _I've rested too much, and I can help protect you, shield that pain, whatever they do_ It occurred to him that he could reach through this suppressor field somehow. Possibly it wasn't attuned to psionics. That was a significant advantage.

One he couldn't risk giving away.

He could've slipped into Erik's vision, but it was best to not risk too much. _You nearly died, Charles. I want you to rest. It..._

 _I have been rested. I've been drugged. That counts as rest. I can feel to my waist now, move my hands,_ He said. _I am not as fragile._

 _I wish I could see you._ Erik sounded distracted, and Charles settled in, felt him moving. Erik was thinking of Selektion, and Kapos who were too handy with their batons.

 _Are they hurting you now?_ Charles asked concerned. Maybe he had lost some of his skill after all _Erik, what are they going to do?_

 _Working it up emotionally._ Erik was trying to draw away, close off, and it wasn't working. He could feel him trying to erect barriers, but they didn't shift, so Charles did, moved to see what it was that Erik was trying to hide, moved to try to shield Erik from it if it was possible. He stretched, and it felt like a tight muscle finally getting exercise before he slipped lightly into Erik's vision, his senses.

They were stripping him, and one grim faced man was holding a whip.

Erik didn't like to be undressed, not unless he did it on his terms and whippings held a lot of emotional memories for him.

 _I'm here Erik, I'm sorry I wasn't before_

 _I don't want you to do this. You don't need to see this._ He was looking at the floor for a moment, when Erik was pushed down to his knees. His arms were cuffed behind his back, and they felt dead at the wrists

"You're lucky you just arrived here. Ten lashes. Is that what it's going to take to get you to cooperate?"  
He didn't know what the problem had been so he remained silent, also astonished by the "feel" of legs which came as a shock.

 _Barbaric. Maybe I can reach him, make him believe he has administered the punishment._

 _There are cameras, Charles. They're watching._ There were a few snapping blows administered to the ground, one of them close enough to make Erik flinch. It was the workup to scare him before the pain hit.

The first blow was like nothing Charles had ever felt before, except the bullet wound. Pain, curiously shocking and astonishing, enough to make him huff in agony, or Erik or whoever they were together. Shields, he needed to insulate Erik from the trauma of it, and push at the other persons mind.

Only to hit the suppression field from the inside out. He couldn't get through it from this angle.

Too much, wrong direction. They would have to work out how that worked, whether he'd be able to affect someone inside of the field if he was inside of it, rather than just through the connection he had with Erik. Charles contemplated it through the second, and the third lash, working to buffer back the pain while Erik knelt dully and took it. It wasn't anything Charles had expected to have to do in his life, shield someone else from the inside.

What else could he do? He should be able to stop this, he should be able to prevent this from happening. He never wanted mutants to be treated as weapons, as experiments. He wanted them to be people, the amazing wonderful people he knew they were. The pain from Erik's surfacing memories was almost as terrible as the punishment.

Punishment for some arbitrary infraction, Charles was sure, and Erik wasn't thinking words at him any longer, just bearing through it. He could still feel it, and Charles wouldn't be able to dull the pain forever, but he could mask it for now, turn strikes nine and ten into something temporarily more bearable.

"Barely a whimper out of you. I'm impressed. You two, get him up on the bench." He felt Erik being moved, jostled to a new location, saw a sturdy padded bench off to the side, with a few other things on it.

 _No, no, Charles, I want you to go away now. I don't, you can't -- you need to go._ He closed his eyes, which made seeing the room impossible for Charles. The thought was almost passing for calm, but for the thin thread of panic that was rising.

It didn't block out the sound, and he thought if Erik could've, he would've had shut that, too. "Your file says you and your paralyzed friend have been together for... how long?" He felt Erik swallow. "Answer me."

"I met Charles in 49."

 _I have you no matter what Erik. I'm not going to let go of you, I'm here..._ Charles reassured, trying to calm the panic. Erik seemed to know what this meant or at least suspect. Which meant it was bad, and he was getting an inkling of what they might do.

"And you've been together ever since? You must be a good fuck for him to put up with your freakishness."

Erik didn't answer that one, and he kept his eyes closed. He was leaned over the bench, because Charles could feel it against his chest. "Hnh."

"All right. I'll take that as a yes. So, I'm going to make you a proposition. You play along with this and don't do anything rash, and I won't go upstairs and rape your friend. He can't feel it, can he? And I want someone to *feel* it. Imagine what I'd have to do to make him feel it, how deep inside him I'd have to get?" No, no no, and Erik was shaking his head, shaking with anger, trying hard to not think, to not go one step outside of that moment, but he was thinking it, thinking of what they'd do to Charles.

 _No Erik, you don't have to do this. He could do it...I could escape it_ he said urgently. _You can tell him to do it.._ Either way, he didn't want Erik dealing with these feelings again.

 _Go away, Charles. Just go away. I can't, please don't watch this. Please._ He was still shaking his head. "Don't. I, I'll do anything you want. Please leave him alone."

 _Shhh, Erik, love, please_ Charles had to turn his attention away from what was happening. _Turn your mind inwards just you and I here together. This is real, that is not... I know you, the real you, there is nothing to fear._

 _I can't get out of here, I can't get you out of here, I can't do anything, I._ It was like a stutter, and Charles felt the hand on his back, idling over the fresh wounds.

"I like that change of attitude. Maybe if you're really good, we'll even let you see him. Let him know that his cooperation is appreciated, too, while you... adjust to the team." There was a dim sensation of fingers sliding over his ass. "Just enjoy this. It's not like he can fuck you ever again. And faggots love to get fucked, even mutant ones."

 _You can and you will. We will get all of us out of here to safety,_ Charles promised, relentlessly trying to draw his attention inwards, manifesting himself as a visual presence inside Erik's mind. _Look at me, what they are doing will be dealt with when we can, I will make sure of that._ He could take the horror of rape and impress it on their minds, make them mentally live it again and again if he had to. They would pay for this. _You will see me all the time, we will be together again. Take my hand Erik and know that here, nothing can touch you._

There was hesitation, because Erik was worried. If he didn't respond, if he didn't react the way they wanted him to, then Charles was going to be hurt, and he couldn't -- he'd seen Charles near death, and Charles hadn't seen, but he was afraid of that, of losing Charles. If they turned their attention to him, hurt *Charles*, it would be unbearable to Erik. _I can't let them find out, I can't, I've never been good at doing this and talking, they'll work it out._

But he wanted to, and he felt close enough to pull in, away from what was going on, when fingers grabbed a fistful of his hair. "No biting."

"I won't."

Charles was beside himself with frustration _I can't let them do this, not without helping. This is like...letting them kill you. You can't do this Erik, please, please don't be hurt so, I can't bear it either_

 _I can't feel any metal, I can't fight back or they hurt you, I can't *do* anything. Please just go. Maybe they'll bring me to your room later._ It was miserable, but Erik was having to focus, having to pay attention to play along, his eyes opening for a moment. Charles didn't want to see anything, hear the human Erik was sucking off groan, feel the hands in Erik's hair. On some level, he did want to leave, sever the connection, let Erik suffer in peace.

He couldn't abandon him though, even though he felt more helpless than he had ever done in his life, including feeling paralysed. Even paralysed he had known he could protect himself, his loved ones. _I don't want to leave you, but I... I won't watch. I'll just hold you, so you know you're not alone, but I won't listen or share. I swear._

And Erik had nothing to go on but trust there. Years of trust, and it had gotten easier every year. They still fought sometimes, but Charles had generally thought it was out of a sense of rebellion, or restlessness that Erik did it. When it came down to it, Erik trusted him. Because he trusted him, Charles left Erik's sight alone, slipped out of sensing his hearing, reduced his presence away from Erik's back. It was disorienting, and he struggled for a moment to not reach back out again, but. Erik was very carefully not thinking, except that it hurt.

Knowing less made it easier for Charles.

Instead, he concentrated on being a warm presence inside of Erik, something to hold on for, whispering gentle encouraging words, while feeling all the while like he was somehow complicit in this terrible thing. Telling him it wouldn't be long, then they could be together, they could escape and do what he wanted.

Do anything. It felt like empty promises, but Charles was going to make it happen. They'd get out, find the children, make sure they were still safe. Find them if they weren't. He'd have to try his best to not be a liability, and Erik was thinking of the huge estate and fixing the cars and building the compound beneath the estate, things he had control over. Charles encouraged that line of memories, pulled up familiar comforting things. Nothing too extravagantly nice, just simple moments. Erik liked those best, anyway.

He distrusted the exotic. Life didn't give him caviar without a price, but it might just give him a steak. Sense memories of pleasant foods were useful. The spicy wraps and cool yoghurts they had tried on their travels, the time they had found the best pie either of them had ever tasted in a drab looking diner in America when they were looking for their base. The coolness of a good beer that he had had imported just because Erik had remembered it fondly, ice cold and refreshing. That he could do.

And quiet moments, sitting on the sofa with Charles, reading separate books while the students fought over what channel -- out of five that they had reception to -- they wanted to watch on the television. Watching Warren fly, taunting Bobby to build a taller ice tower. Scott, Scott an angry young man after Erik's own heart, who was frustrated by a sherry coloured world and strange looks, and his missing family, learning the tricks of house and car repair in focusing quiet. Watching Jean and Charles and Hank share sometimes incomprehensible conversations, but enjoying their ease, enjoying that Hank wanted to be a doctor and an engineer, and possibly a fighter pilot as well, that Jean trained as hard and sometimes harder than the boys and held her own.

Lying in bed, Charles using Erik's back for a pillow and Erik laying very still to not displace him, both of them feigning sleep at the other one. It all plucked melancholy strands in Erik's heart, but Charles pressed on to assure him that it would be like that again, somehow.

It would be, it had to be. How could they lose something so perfect? What could possibly come between them that could sever that woven harmony of mind, body and soul? This was Erik who he knew almost as well as he knew himself and sometimes knew him better. Erik who had *flown* to try and save him, who was trying to protect him with everything in him. There was nothing that could tear them apart.

He lost track of time, but he kept it up, comforting Erik as he could, until he finally felt Erik's mind a little more strongly, a jumbled mass of impotent anger and an edge of near incoherence. _They're going to bring me up._

 _Do I stay asleep, or can I see you?_ Charles asked immediately. He wanted to open his eyes to him, to kiss him and feel it. _You will be expected to want to get close_

 _They want you to see me._ Erik felt it might be best if he were already awake. He was already drifting back in on himself, and Charles could feel pain, and shocked disgust that Erik was trying to tamp back. He was thinking about strangling someone, and mostly dwelling on the pattern of the floor tiles.

 _See what they have done to you?_ Charles asked shrewdly. _You are out of the suppressor field surely, I could... retaliate_

 _There's a collar._ And Erik was still worried for Charles's sake. _You're not well enough to be moved yet._

It was possibly true, he wasn't sure of the state of his health and if they ran they had to have somewhere to run. He noted that Erik had avoided the question. _I will make an effort to be stirring when you come in_ he said, starting the process even as he sent the thought, making it seem like he was waking from a dream.

He had to separate out a little, but he was keeping a pulse on Erik. Erik had murmured once that Charles in his head felt like a cat wandering around in a study, quiet but present. There was no such absent rumination just then, only Erik keeping himself tightly held together. He was working out how to best approach it when he heard a door open.

"Wake up, Charles Xavier. We have a visitor for you."

He was deliberately blurry as he opened his eyes and the wincing and squinting in the too bright light was unfeigned. He mouth was dry and his voice rasped as he focused. "...Erik..." He was wearing pants, barely and he could make out the marks on his skin. "Erik!"

The metal collar that was around his throat was as strange and disorienting as the handcuffed wrists, now to the front of his body instead of behind his back. Erik hesitated, for a moment too long for Charles to be comfortable, and then he started forward. "Charles, you, you're awake..."

"Where am I?" Charles said. "Why, why are you a prisoner? What’s going on here?" He looked around and adopted a worried and anxious look even as he tried to sooth Erik mentally.

"We're..." Erik hesitated, looking at the guards again, before using one knee to knock a chair up against the side of Charles's bed to sit down. He sat down painfully. "The Government has decided to take me into custody."

Charles reached for him revelling privately in being able to move his hands and arm. "Why? On what grounds? This is illegal and against the fundamental constitution of this country."

"That's rich." It was the same man who'd whipped Erik, grinning and folding his arms over his chest. Erik didn't seem to be paying attention, hesitant about touching him in public now, but wanting to. "So's sodomy, but I won't hold it against the two of you. Your friend there is a freak, a danger to the public, and you've been harbouring him. Given your condition, we thought the best way to get him to cooperate was to bring you in."

"...I'm a hostage?" The urge to turn that smug little violent mind off was almost overwhelming. "I demand we be let go. I have dependents, you have no right to do this!" His voice cracked dramatically , still dry and rasping. "Erik needs treatment for your brutality, whatever you have done to him."

"Lehnsherr, I think your friend there isn't that bright for an academic. They let you teach, huh? Me, and those two guards there just fucked the daylights out of your friend. You're lucky we hosed him off before bringing him up here. So, you can cooperate with us, or we'll do it to him again. And again. And again. Because his abilities aren't going to work around here."

Erik's shoulders hunched, and he leaned in, pressing his forehead against the mattress in a desperate attempt to not react.

Charlie didn't have to feign the horror. "No...No, don't hurt him, please don't hurt him." He itched to just crush that smug little mind and his thought flexed in anticipation. "It is people like you that create the very situations you fear."

Just a nightmare. Later, he could slip a nightmare in there and he would feel what it was like to be a victim. Not too similar, but enough.

"Strangely enough, I think we've got this one... in hand. I'll leave you here. Be careful of what you get up to, of course." There was a two fingered gesture to the camera in the far corner, looking down on them all. "I wouldn't mind a little porn, but don't fuss with the collar."

"Oh Erik..." Charles managed a whisper even as he touched mind to mind more directly. _Are you in much pain? Do not believe anything they say. They are petty small minded individuals with no true thought of their own._

He moved a hand, carding his fingers through Erik's hair softly. Erik's hands are too closely bound together to let him do much more than rest his elbows on the edge of the mattress, fingers holding loosely onto Charles's sheets. _A force to be reckoned with. No sense of responsibility, and when the troops come in and ask what happened, they say 'just following orders'._ He was thinking of American planes flying overhead, and not doing anything, not saving them. Months and months before the war ended. He was thinking of the new pain, and trying to not touch it.

Touching his hair soothed them both. _We are humans who are mutants. This does not make us less. It makes us more._ "What did they do to you love?"

"I want to go home." It was a desperate sort of feeling, that home was somewhere safe with Charles. Erik missed the mansion, but it didn't matter. Charles, and somewhere safe. Their college dorm rooms, the place in Kent, any one of the apartments and hotel rooms they had been in over the years but not there with a collar around his neck and his body killing him. Erik shifted, both hands clutching loosely at Charles's free hand, head still down. _I agree. It doesn't mean anything right now, though._ "I'm sorry."

"I know you do...I'll ask to speak to whoever is in charge. This is...unconscionable," he said. _We will find a way. You have allies here?_

He needed to turn Erik's thoughts constructive not destructive.

It was an odd feeling to have to do that, because he hadn't had to since they were both barely past being children. _Somewhat. If I move too fast or mis-step, they'll kill me to save their own skins._ And he'd been there before, too. It was all too familiar to Erik, and Charles could see the camp survivors fighting over bread. "I don't think they care."

 _They have been hurt too. But give them a real hope and they will fight for that chance._

"Then I will keep talking. They cannot keep us indefinitely, we can't just disappear." Charles meant that. _I will have to test the limitations of the suppressor. If I can get into your mind while it is on, there must be a means to circumvent it, or activate your abilities. I just need to find it._

 _Free reign._ Erik shifted his fingers, restless, clutching at Charles's hand. "I think... I'd like to sleep for a while."

"Then sleep, love," Charles murmured. "But kiss me first. Even if my lips are dry and cracked." _I will not hurt you Erik, I promise._

 _I need a toothbrush._ It was half fact, half reaching for blithe humour, and Erik lifted his head, shifted. His expression was pinched, and he was fairly right about the taste that lingered on his mouth, but he still kissed Charles.

It was probably similar from his side, considering. "Now rest. It will be fine Erik, I promise."

And to the outside world it would look like Erik had crashed out, and he was torn with impotent rage. He nudged Erik’s mind, gently, gave him that rest he hadn’t had in weeks, kept an arm around him when he slumped in against the side of the bed. In sleep, Erik’s mind didn’t play what had just happened over and over, though Charles could feel the memory there, bright and sharp and still not entirely encoded. While he was searching for a way to use Erik’s powers, he passed it and hesitated.

Erik trusted him to not wipe things out, no matter how tempting it was.

He wanted to spare him the pain, take it away, but...in the end he could not do that to Erik. Not after everything. He could wrap it slightly, pad it with reassurance and caring that meant it was not so harsh and overwhelming, and stop it from forcing itself into conscious thought or burying itself to be an energy drain in the subconscious. There... just a soft protective padding that would wear away when the memory had chance to be assimilated.

No, he needed to find a way out of here for all of them. They needed Erik's powers for that and he needed to be able to touch them and then reach outwards only...

It didn't make sense.

That didn't make sense. Why could he reach into Erik's mind with such ease, and feel when he was supposed to have a null field? Erik thought that was what had happened to the man who'd shot Charles, but that had been a pure void, and Charles was able to move about in Erik's mind with ease. The collar didn't work on him.

But then he hadn't been able to reach out to them. He didn't know them, and they were...closed. That shouldn't work. Either he should be able to touch them all, or no one, not Erik and then not them. It was like they weren't really there to link to somehow.

He blinked a little in surprise, frowning. Wait. Were they illusions? Some telepathic construct being forced on them? He knew the power of that. He had done it before, he had created worlds within worlds and wrapped them around wholesale. But if that was the case, then how could he tell?

He'd felt, brushed other minds in the compound lightly. He'd felt the minds of the people who'd brought Erik in, but there was no... no assurance that they weren't simply re-constructs. Old minds that he'd brushed, reformulated for reality's sake.

So what could he count on? Himself. His mind was real. Erik...was Erik real? Could he construct a mind as complex as Erik's? He needed to check it was a whole thing, and he spread his awareness out to touch all levels – a risky business, but necessary. What was disturbing was there were memories half buried, half overlaid with different shapes and he pulled one out carefully to examine it.

He'd never in his life seen Erik wear a helmet over his head, or a costume in red and purple, glowing with electricity and shouting at -- oh god, that was him, the students, that was Scott and Jean and Bobby all grown up, students he didn't recognize, rubble on the ground. Erik throwing them around like toys.

It was an Erik filled with rage, consumed by the anger that had rooted in his past, empty and hollow with betrayal. It make him recoil in horror because he did not want to see Erik like that, but there was an element of not wanting to let go of things.

What had happened to Erik to make him that person? Where was he in all of that to have let it happened? He couldn't imagine ever being that estranged that this had happened.

But it had, and he was there on the battlefield. In a wheelchair, observing at a distance, impassive, angry. It was strange, and he twisted the memory from different angles a few times before laying it to rest. He could tell there were more, but he didn't want to touch them because he still felt chilled by the first one. That meant there would be more, pieces that didn't fit what he felt and where they were.

Pieces that were potentially reality, not Erik sleeping a desperate sleep beside him.

However it did mean that Erik was real. That was not something he would have constructed because for this to be perpetuated it was likely that the minds he sensed were actually memories of minds he had touched in the past. He reached out to one of the nurses around him and for the first time, sank into her mind deeper than he would ever do normally. It was like walking over ice that seemed solid, but underneath was a chasm of nothing. Enough that when she passed by, she'd feel normal, and his natural inclinations to not abuse his power would protect the rest of the charade. But the students were real, too, at least some of them. Were they in there, wherever there was, with him? Was Erik there as well? Or was it simply him and the best they could manage?

He needed to work that out, and they needed know how many were in here and who had them and what they were trying to do. It was going to take a lot of concentration and focus, and that might mean temporarily losing contact with Erik, but hopefully he would be able to do it while Erik slept.

If Erik was even alive and present to sleep. It felt strange to be bothered by the idea causing discomfort to an illusion. He shifted in the bedding, and as gently as he could, broke contact as prelude to reading out through the facility. He would have to test every mind for that ice-thin ness, and then come back to Erik and try the same with a little more perspective.

* * *

Charles was still petting his hair when he woke up. He wasn't sure how long he'd slept, but his arms and back and ass were sore, so Erik supposed it was long enough. He didn't want to move, though, and start the day's training, so he laid still and just breathed, enjoying the stroke of fingertips against the nape of his neck. He could hold onto that sensation to get through the day. It was possible. At least he wouldn't need to explain to the others what had happened.

It took him a while to realise that there was something wrong with the way Charles was thinking. That warm feeling in his head was agitated and felt unsteady and he wasn't used to that. Charles had been a rock, the stable force in his chaotic mind for so long.

It had been a long night, a long, long few weeks, agonizing, and while he'd slept, Charles had no doubt worried and wondered what he could do to fix things, worries that Erik had tried and worn thin over and over and over because he had no real solution. He had hopes and half plans and a desperate need to be free. Needs had nothing to do with reality. _Charles?_

 _Erik...we, we need to talk._ Charles' mind tone was shaky. _I am sorry to spring this on you when you are just awake, but it is important._

 _I don't think it's possible for things to get worse._ He didn't move, physically, because they were watching on the cameras. Just laid there and enjoyed touch that didn't hurt. _Go on._

 _This is not real. None of this is real,_ Charles said heavily. _I was hunting for way to break the collar and I came across...things I could not explain, that have lead me to the inescapable conclusions that this is not real. You and I are real, and a few others, but this...this whole situation has not been real for some time. It is a powerful telepathically induced program I believe._

He twitched, and sat up, because he couldn't help it, had to see Charles's face when he thought that at Erik. _What? This -- this prison isn't even real? I don't know, how could this happen?_

 _I am not sure. I believe we are effectively prisoners as we are here, but trapped in the machine. But..._ Charles hesitated. _Erik, we are not... from the memories I found buried, we are not together_ He sounded horrified at the thought. _In fact our relationship is more akin to enemies._

"No." No, that couldn't be true, that had no -- that wasn't possible. _No, I've known you since Oxford, Charles, we've been together for years. We've, no, that's not possible. That's not possible._ Because if there wasn't Charles, then... then what? Then he went mad, then he gave in to every fucking thing that had gone wrong so far and he followed it and he followed his impulses and oh god, that had to have been what happened.

 _Erik...Erik, calm down,_ Charles stroked his hair again. _Erik, I can't explain it, but even there, even then I believe we love each other, but it is a lonely desperate love between people who believed for some reason we had been betrayed by the other so we have been expressing it for years in arguments that tear up the world. But even so...even with some of the things we've done to each other, every time I forgive you, and you appear to forgive me. That speaks to me of love and I will not go back to being that person. I believe we both desperately regretted decisions in the past and we both wanted this future together. So given the opportunity we created new memories, a new life of what should have been for us both._

"How... what happened? What did I do?" He wasn't calming down, because it didn't make sense. Nowhere in his world was there room for a world without Charles, never mind one where they were at each other's throats. How could they be, when there were so few of their kind? If they didn't work together, how did the humans not crush them?

 _Shhh, they will realise,_ Charles soothed. _I did terrible things too. Neither of us were not blameless and I see now...that we played right into our enemies hands. When we were fighting each other, they could pick us off. We hurt each other Erik, but I swear to you, I will never do that again. This life, even if it is smoke and mirrors is more important to me than the one I lived the first time around. I love you, I need you. I can't imagine a world without you there, the two of us dealing with everything together. Promise you'll remember this before I show you...because I have to show you otherwise we cannot break out of here._

He couldn't stop shaking his head, feeling a tight hysterical edge rising up. _Please don't. Please. I don't want to know, I don't want anything but this, please..._ And Charles was going to show him anyway, because if they were someplace that wasn't real then that, that was prison that was captivity, no matter how good it felt.

 _I would give anything not to have to show you this_ Charles answered softly. _I considered leaving us here...letting them do as they wished, but I realised Erik, they are steering us to something, to cooperation to see them as the good and our own causes as the bad. We have upset their plans and this has been rushed through. This, what they did to you yesterday is just the start and I will not permit it to happen again. I will show you one memory, one of your own of an incident... between us._

An incident between them. Erik kept his eyes open, fixed on Charles's familiar face, but it still assaulted his senses, overwhelmed his vision, bright and crisp as any of his more timeworn memories. It flipped through fast, flooding him. Relief, exuberance. Genosha was his, theirs, mutant kind’s, an island of safety, Eretz Israel for mutants, a place where their backs had been broken under human masters and now the humans were under them. And Charles was hung on a cross in the square, as a warning against those who were interested in saving the humans first.

He jerked backwards, and then the next one flooded over him, earlier, and he was... out in space? He was in space looking down and he just wanted to be safe, to get away, to not have to deal with the humans, that's what it kept coming down to and Charles had pursued him there this time, come to his base, violated his home and he'd simply been making threats, he was simply going to show the humans that their incessant hunting of mutants was unacceptable, and then the memory blurred into sharp pain because Charles had flayed his mind, hollowed him out, shattered him.

And as quickly as the two memories had hit, they faded back, still agonizing in their presence. He couldn't breathe, and he couldn't think, staring at Charles, the only person he'd ever trusted, really trusted, opened himself up to. "No. No, I did not, I did *not*."

 _Erik, I know. I feel the same at what I remember doing. It's... it's inconceivable the way I feel now, and I didn't want to show you but I had to because you need to see._ Charles explained. _Please don't draw away from me, I don't think I could bear it. I... the one you know now, I haven't betrayed you, I swear it._

 _How..._ It still didn't make sense, and Erik just stared, shaking a little. _What do we do now?_ He wasn't going to think about what he'd just seen, couldn't let himself.

 _We need to find out how to reach the real people from within this mindscape, and a way to direct your power out so you can free us,_ Charles said. _How much longer will they leave us here?_

 _Until they take me for training. I suspect I'll be made an example of again._ Erik's head bowed in, and he couldn't quite look Charles in the eye. It was hard to guess how many other horrible things they'd done to each other. What kind of person was he, to inflict that sort of pain on someone who'd brought him nothing but hope?

But then he could feel from Charles' mind, the steady seep of guilt and concern as well. Perhaps Charles was feeling much the same.

 _Then we must act now,_ Charles said firmly. _We must break free before they cause you more hurt. Will you be able to act if I break loose?_

 _If none of this is real, then what risk is there in trying?_ He just needed a signal. He still had the collar and handcuffs on, but he could *move*. He could walk.

Charles was suddenly there in his mind, and it was then he realised how much Charles held himself back when he touched him mentally, how gentle he was with his thoughts when the edges of his mind were like some intensely powerful tornado of psychic force building up and twisting tighter. _Hold on to my thought_ he instructed and a Charles’ image appeared, reaching out to him.

All he had to do was reach out to it and they'd be free. Free of the prison, free of, Erik didn't know, free of hope and warmth and back to wherever they really were, in actual captivity. He hesitated, because of what the loss it could all mean, and then reached back to Charles's thought.

It surprised him that instead of punching up and out with his thought, Charles turned inward, looking for the real world inside of him, ruthless in his exposure of himself, his avatars expression screwed up in anguish as they had no choice to penetrate a past without Erik there. Charles could not feign that, it was too raw and too real to deny that his reaction was completely genuine. They rewound back, and there... there was the moment. How much had come from one decision on a fateful night back when his mother had died and Charles Xavier had turned and gone to Moira's room, rather than turning as he had in this mindscape to go to Erik. One choice and the difference between happiness and disaster.

Erik remembered that, felt that, his own real memory stirring. He'd been lonely and he'd said fuck it to America because Charles was right, that was boring, and he'd gone to Israel instead. Charles had found him there, later, and another woman, another Jew like Erik, who'd survived, Haller, a patient of Charles that he was *sleeping* with, and, and. And he felt it and he remembered that gut wrenching insane jealousy all over again, distrust, wondering if fucking Jewish survivors was turning into a fetish for Charles, the memory fresh and horrifying and then he was breathing.

Struggling to breathe but breathing, the air sharp and cold in his lungs, in a room that suddenly burst with noise.

 _This is real!_ Charles said urgently. _I will hold them as best I can, but I think I am drugged still. You should be able to use your powers Erik. Please... set us free. You know that I cannot move._

He was shaky, and weak, but that had never stopped him before. He got his eyes open, and started to lash out. It was easier than ever, more power than he had become accustomed to in the mindscape, even as drained as he felt, ripping himself free of some kind of operating table, tubes and needles displaced quickly as he saw someone racing towards him. They were easy to disable with the little things, belt buckles, wrist watches, a sterilized tray of equipment they had no doubt been using on himself and Charles. He kept them back, disorganized, long enough to roll off of the table and unsteadily get to his feet. It felt, oddly, like he'd been gutted, and it was hard to stay standing, his back screaming at him while he got Charles free and slid his arms under him.

Paralyzed, and Erik wondered how it had happened in reality. There wasn't time to consider it just yet.

"Who are you?" Charles demanded of them all fixating on one of them and piercing his mental defences. "Genosha? You were trying to brainwash us to be your agents of government? Dr Carlin, your reservations about this working are noted, but you didn't stop it did you?"

Erik imagined the man was trying to shake his head. He didn't care, though, holding Charles as steadily as he could. Charles felt strange -- angry, drugged, yes. He slid an arm behind Erik's neck, and Erik was mostly sure he wasn't going to drop him. "Tell me what you want done to them."

"My memories tell me I can be vengeful when necessary, but I, I don't want us to be... Professor X and Magneto. I want to be Charles and Erik," Charles said with quiet intensity to him, and turned back to their prisoners. "You hurt us both. You wanted to change us and make us your slaves, but whether meant or not, you gave us something precious; a second chance. So I will not ask Erik to revisit what you did to us in that mindscape with metal. You will sleep, and you will wake and your punishment will be that all this will be gone. And you will have to face your employers who I believe have difficulty with the concept of mercy."

No. No, that wasn't enough. That wasn't enough, and he wanted to do more. What was to stop them from doing it again? Wiping their minds wasn't enough, wiping them out might be enough. Killing them all, burying them in that place, because he wanted to bring the walls down around them.

He wanted to go home.

 _We will Erik,_ Charles promised. _Believe me, the retribution of their employers will be more than satisfactory. Control your anger, you are not the Magneto who has no one in the world any more._

He didn't know that person, didn’t want to touch those memories. Wanted them to go away. He was the person who was angry when someone hurt Charles, angry when life went badly, angry when he was frustrated. _I'm trying._

The machines, their systems, though, weren't going to survive, wires curling in on themselves, tapes going blank, the internals slowly warping. He couldn't help it.

 _You have the choice. You can destroy all their equipment, certainly,_ Charles added, redirecting his anger. He focused and was still a moment and the people all just fell asleep. "My part is done."

He closed his eyes for a moment, focusing on the one thing that felt solid, Charles against him. They weren't even clothed, but that wasn't the time to worry about that. "Tell me where home is. We're leaving this place." He had a sense of it, the sound of the metal around him, the humming, the low buzz, and he could tear it out around himself, clearing it as he headed up through the ceiling to freedom.

"...I am not sure. There is the mansion, but that was not home to you though I would want it to be," Charles answered. "You worked on Genosha, your own places.."

They flickered through his mind, unfamiliar and strange. "Mansion." At least Charles would fit in, and he knew where it was. He just didn't know where he was leaving from, and it took him a minute once they hit the air to orient himself.

God, he could feel the magnetic fields of the planet, singing to him. If Charles hadn't gasped and started to shake with the winds that buffeted that high, he could've given into to that sensation.

He could not get his head around the revelations he had just experienced. He didn't know what to think, the betrayal was fresh and new but so was the horror. The memories were jostling, shaking loose, competing for head space.

He flew, crackling with a lightning storm around him, around them both trying not to have to deal with the internal voice shouting that Charles was his mortal enemy.

He wasn't. Wasn't. He was his friend, his ally, his lover, the one solid spot in his life, and he couldn't, wouldn't give in. That was fear talking, that was a reality that didn't feel real, that was the pain of captivity and whatever else had been done to them, making him weaker for it. _Don't let go. It's a long way._

 _Are you well enough?_ Charles asked him. _We can stop wherever you wish to stop. Go back to Oxford if you wish. I... did not think of that before._

He focused, trying to work out the best way to keep going. It was just magnetic fields, and the old him, the other him, flew regularly. Hadn't in a while, he had no idea what had happened, didn't want to find out what had happened to get he and Charles in the same sorry state. _Was that even real? Any of it?_ Had he ever nearly lost a boxing match and come back to Charles's dorm room with him? It felt real.

It all felt real.

 _Oxford was real,_ Charles confirmed. _Oxford was real until I made that stupid mistake when my mother died and didn't understand that you would see me going to Moira as a betrayal. Subconsciously, I have been regretting that all my life._

 _So you re-wrote us._ And Erik had lived it, wanted it. It felt real, cluttered with richness of moments that hadn't been. He reached, exerting himself a little harder. _Rest. We will be there soon._

There was silence for a long while before he heard Charles mentally say, _Can you forgive me Erik? I know you can't answer right now for sure but is there a possibility?_

The longer he flew, the better he was getting a handle on what he was doing, on coasting along, across natural magnetic lines, gathering speed with each piece he touched. If it weren't for the force field, Charles would be deaf already. But they were still hours out. And he needed to know what else they'd done, other than tying up their minds. Why he hurt. _When we get to Westchester. I want you to take it away._

 _Take what away?_ Charles replied. _What has just happened?_ he sounded distressed by that prospect.

They were passing over Africa at blazing speed, and the act of punching through available cloud cover was no doubt sowing rain in his wake, leaving something other than a trail of destruction. _Everything else. I want you to take it away. I know you can, I saw what you did to me before._

Charles shook his head _Erik don't ask me to do that. I couldn't wipe it, not without destroying who you are. Don't ask me to do that. I'd never know if you wanted me or if I had made you want me. I can control those memories, make them present but locked._

 _Does it matter?_ It felt familiar, like an old philosophical argument they had probably had before, in some form or another. Maybe they had. How many other times had Charles gotten so deep into his brain that reality and fiction had no separating line? _I... We'll discuss this later._ When they were both stronger, when he wasn't grappling with powers that felt too much, unreal. When he wasn't half tempted to just dissipate himself along those magnetic lines, to feel his powers forever and nothing else.

If he did it, he didn't think Charles would survive the drop.

* * *

By the time they reached Westchester - and Charles had had to insist they stop and get clothing before he froze to death - Charles was trying to come to terms with his own memories and realising that this was going to be a very difficult transition. He was effectively bringing their arch enemy home having disappeared for months on end. He hid their approach until they were practically on the front lawn and then heard Jean mentally set off the alarms.

 _Professor?! Professor is that you, are you in danger? How are you here?_

They'd probably given him up for dead, and potentially celebrated that Erik was -- Oh. Oh.

Erik was supposed to *be* dead, and that was going to be somewhat problematic at the start. Erik touched down unsteadily on the lawn, still carrying Charles. He hadn't brought it up again, or said much of anything, but he very likely still wanted Charles to wipe out. Reality. He had to admit the thought was tempting for them both.

"Erik, they are likely to be aggressive towards you. Just trust me", Charles said and focused on intercepting the alert. _It is me Jean, I am here with Erik, and he is not an enemy. Please caution the others._

He was terribly glad to have pants on. None of the younger students rushed out -- they crowded at the windows, cluttering his mind with surprise and shock and a few who weren't even sure who he was -- but the older ones, who weren't students anymore didn't surprise him.

"Set him down, and step away, Magneto." Scott, visor barely in place, and Jean, Jean all grown up. The spill of memories that went with it all was maddening, a fresh rush, and an echo of different memories leaking from Erik as he worked to simply stay on his feet.

"I can't do that. If I do, you'll fire on me." He'd seen Erik deflect Scott's shots hundreds of times, but Erik was still hesitant.

"Scott, stop. Erik, Magneto is not our enemy now," he said firmly. "I have offered him asylum. The situation has changed between us as part of a mutual imprisonment. I will stop anyone who tries to do him harm. I have given him my word that he will be safe here."

He blanketed out his thought presence, ready to back up that statement.

"Professor, where have you *been*?" Scott moved forward, and Erik almost took a step backwards.

"Held by humans. He needs medical care. He's been drugged. I don't know what else happened." Step forwards instead, and Charles felt Scott's anger/ panic/ fear, thinking about Genosha, about last time, about the school's safety, about Charles on a cross, Stockholm syndrome, and they'd seen Magneto dead, how was he not dead? "You can interrogate me later. We don't have time for this now."

 _Professor, are you under duress?_ Jean felt more powerful than he remembered, contact with her mind enough to drown out everything else.

 _No Jean, I am not. A genoshan government was trying to place both of us under its power,_ he replied trying to negotiate on both levels. _Erik is fragile right now, and this could be a real chance to save him, and to save myself._

He was brutally honest with Jean in his mind. No one else could understand that level of rapport. _We will talk on it later._

"Scott, I assure you, anything that is currently wrong with me was not caused by Magneto, _Charles said. "Now, will you let us in? I warn you though, if you intend to incarcerate Erik, you will also be incarcerating me. I will be going where he goes. Now, as he has carried me all the way from Genosha, will you allow me into my own home for a nice cup of tea?"_

 _He caught, barely, the way Scott looked over to Jean, a fraction of motion before he nodded. "Infirmary. We'll have you both checked out. We have... things have changed." And there would be time to work out what and how later, yes. He would need to work it out._

 _"But you're still here." Erik moved, ignoring Wolverine, to follow Jean. Beast was lingering in the main doorway, watching them from afar -- no, in place to protect the school if he needed to. That he might need to protect it from Charles was a disturbing revelation._

 _What had happened while he was not there? Why would they be wary of him? He cared for them, he...perhaps his other self had also betrayed them. It was a sobering thought._

 _"Erik would you mind carrying me a little further? Then with any luck we can rest."_

 _"Had not planned on anything else." He fell into pace behind Jean, and Charles felt Scott, and Wolverine closing in. Most stinging was a sense of shock and recrimination from Hank while he shut the front doors behind them._

 _"Did you even look at Genosha when you went past? Did -- what do you remember?"_

 _"I didn't look. I didn't... have to." A memory, and whiplash sharp, Erik pulling him closer, words spoken aloud, blending with mindspeech. "I still, I have to go back. There are humans playing god in our ashes." _No wonder I wanted to stay forever.__

"When we can get out memories straight, then we will work this out,” Charles said, glancing around. What had happened? Why was Hank feeling so hostile?

 _Jean, I sense I have missed a lot. Our memories are mixed up and unsettled and I am sure that I have gaps. What has happened that disturbs everyone so. Have I done something?_

 _Cassandra Nova. Genosha, no matter how insane Magneto was, had 16 million mutants. The radio message, it._ Jean stopped, and Charles felt himself scrambling to follow, mentally. _She had your body. We eventually, or you, got yourself out. Took control back. But you destroyed the Shiar empire, outed yourself to the world as a mutant, it... Afterwards, you were going on a trip, and Lilandra had you assassinated._

It had almost been a relief for Jean, to stop having to watch him wrestle with the guilt, with the lies that had piled up on him and caused such destruction. It made the elevator down to the lower levels of the mansion feel particularly crowded, as Erik put his back to the wall and was making an effort to not look at anyone. He felt cold, tense, hollowed out, which was better and worse than spun up panic.

Charles felt himself drain of colour. _I don't remember... we, Erik and I have lived our lives over and I feel different. I made different choices. I am sorry Jean._

 _It doesn't change what happened. The school has been recovering. A lot of the children had parents who, if they were mutants, are gone. Kitty's father was in the square when they died. A lot of people we knew are gone. The survivors crop up one and two at a time. Emma was one of them. She's here now, teaching. She said humans were massing on the island again._ The elevator stopped, letting them out. The infirmary was just down the hall -- at least the floorplan hadn't changed in his absence. "We're going to need to check you both for parasites, for any influencing presences. I've asked Emma to come down to assist."

Charles head was whirling at the news. "I understand." Maybe he had made a grievous mistake asking Erik to come back here with him. It looked like most of his friends, his people that he had counted as his family in his other memories, would happily see him dead.

Hank moved past them, towards the centre console, while Erik just stared at the interior of the infirmary for a moment, before he set Charles down on one of the beds. _What do you want to do now?_ Erik sat down unsteadily on the edge of the next bed. It was too close to the happenings of the previous day, the shattered half memories of escape from the facility, escape without looking back.

 _Let them do what they want to do._ Charles said. _Erik, I think right now from what Jean has told me, I am less welcome here than you are. They blame the deaths in Genosha on me. I think Jean has just told me that they thought I was dead._

 _It was sentinels._ Erik exhaled, watching Hank's back, looking over to Jean, watching Scott conferring with her. _I meant what I said. Perhaps we should have stayed dead to them. Perhaps we should have stayed in the system._

 _If they will not have us then we will leave together,_ Charles promised and was surprised to realise that he meant it. All of this was too much to deal with, the betrayal and complexities that he sensed. He wasn't that person anymore. He wasn’t the Charles Xavier that he sensed from the others had manipulated them all for his vision alone.

It was jarring, to feel that. That no one had told him no, no one had stopped him, no one had pointed out when his ego had gotten out of control to the point where he felt that lying to protect was acceptable. That making decisions for other people was acceptable. That editing memories was acceptable because all of this had been for what he considered to be the ‘greater good’.

 _I know this is your home._ And for that, and for memories that felt more satisfying than reality, Erik was willing to put up with suspicion.

"Professor?" Jean approached him. "Hank and Dr. Rao are ready to begin."

"Please, go ahead. I am afraid we are both somewhat disorientated," Charles replied. He couldn't move his legs still. "Although I understand things are very different from how I recall. All I can tell you is that Erik and I have been immersed through the avenue of drugs and direct interfacing neuroprobes in complete telepathic mindscape. We believe it was an attempt at brainwashing, or turning us to some cause. However, they did not reckon on the fact we started recreating our past instinctively when faced with the chance for a do-over."

"Hindsight being twenty twenty." Erik startled when a doctor Charles had never met abruptly pulled a curtain around his bed.

"You first. Please lay back, and Phoenix will do her part. Do you have any immediate pain?" Charles brushed the edges of her mind, her bright nervous demeanour, her complete lack of a mutation. She'd developed a cure for mutations, and... and now she worked with the x-men. It wasn't Charles's place to pry like that.

"Nothing significant," Charles said. He pulled back his mind, trying to behave. "Cuts and bruises only."

He remained clinging to Erik's mind like he was a safety net for him.

"That I have never seen from one of your sort's excursions. Lay back." She was pulling down a scanner. Augmented Shiar technology no doubt, and he could add them to the list of people who weren't speaking with him any longer.

"Muscular atrophy in your arms and upper back, vein damage from whatever they were pumping through you. Yes, just cuts and bruises. I'm going to take a few samples, and if Phoenix will finish the rest..."

Jean nodded, and abruptly the connection with Erik severed as she overwhelmed his ability to reach out. _I'm sorry. I need to understand what we're dealing with this time. Help me understand what happened._

He nearly panicked having to hold himself in check from trying to push through Jean's psionic field to get to Erik. She was expecting resistance.

 _Then come in and look,_ he invited because that if anything might convince her. There was a part of him saying that he did not trust even Jean this much but he did not stop. He had changed, he could trust Jean.

He felt her reach in, and start to gently sift through his memories. The strongest ones were from the rebuilding he and Erik had done, and the horrors he'd pulled up while rediscovering himself. She lingered over half-memories of her childhood, viewed through an adult's eyes, like they were old photographs, comparing them to the reality of no second professor, of being the only girl in a house of men in a different way. Of never knowing quite what Charles's intentions were at any given moment, to the openness Charles had wished for.

 _Do you want me to help clean this up?_

 _I don't want to lose what I have now with Erik, Jean. If clearing it up will risk that, then do not do it. If it will not then please do. I...am feeling too buffeted by thoughts to deal with it._

His shields were not at their best, his talent not at full capacity after however long of constant stimulated exertion. It was too much strain and he just wanted Erik and the innocence that went with being in love with someone.

 _Emma says that Magneto's situation is similar._ And he was probably fighting her tooth and nail. Charles supposed if he hadn't been, it would've been suspicious. _How does this make the difference, where everything else..._ Them, her, Scott, Moira, oh god and she was dead all over again, and he felt that pain seeping across from her. _Didn't?_

 _Because... it was one decision I made Jean, that I have regretted all my life. It was the last straw that broke him, and now we have had a second chance,_ he answered flinching from those memories. _I do not like the person being alone made me into, Jean. I... find aspects of myself repulsive. Erik does too. He wants me to purge his real memories from him but... I can't._

 _Why not?_ It was an odd question from Jean, who never liked to meddle. _If you leave the knowledge that his memories have been altered and that he asked you to..._

 _No. It's not right. I remembered wiping his mind in a rage, and it makes me feel physically ill,_ Charles said vehemently. _I offered to soften them, make them controllable, but not to take them away._

 _I'll help you, if you need me to._ He could feel Jean shuffling items around, doing much the same to him. Slowly, things started to ease back from crowding his mind. _I don't think you'll be accepted if you want to run the school again. But... This is your home. You belong here. Tensions will ease._

 _Right now, I do not wish to run anything,_ Charles admitted. _Perhaps I never should have tried. We had good intentions. The second time around was better._

 _I'm still trying to imagine Magneto as a stabilizing factor. Did your cars spend less time broken down? Scott loved that fiat._ It was a little lighter, and Jean was trying. She imagined sitting across from him at a table, and they were there, further distraction while she carefully sorted two lifetimes of memory.

 _Yes as it happened. You were all still young though, and I believe we were more like family than a team._ That was a big regret to find that he had emphasised team rather than the family he wanted. It was proof that he had needed Erik to make him whole again. _Is Erik all right? They hurt him Jean, and I couldn't stop it._

 _It's been a year, Charles. He's still recovering from what Wolverine did to him. And however he survived the destruction of Genosha. They probably kept him weak to make this easier. I think a little back surgery will do wonders._ There was an odd mental image of Erik in a wheelchair, watching the incoming Sentinel and unable to stop it.

Again he had to stop himself battering Jean down to get to Erik. _Do you think we should stay or go Jean? I trust your judgement over my own at the moment._

 _Stay. Give it time. Scott will tell you if it's not working and we need to come to another decision._ Jean conjured up a pot of tea, and poured him a cup. _At least long enough to get your strength back and readjust._

 _Jean, I'm not an empath like you but this close, I can feel people broadcasting everything whether I like it or not,_ Charles answered taking the tea cup. _I don't know what has happened but I know who they blame and I am not going to deny them their right to hate me._

 _It wasn't you. It just... had your body._ Jean at least met his eyes. _You were struggling with that when you left for your trip. You told me that distance might make it easier._

 _It seldom does, I suppose,_ Charles sighed. _I'm sorry Jean, for anything I have done that has hurt you. Remembering some of what has happened to you has made me feel that I let you down badly._

 _We've all done the best we can, with adverse circumstances._ The edge of her mouth twitched a little. _Did you really sleep with Magneto in college?_

 _Yes. A lot. And spectacularly I might add,_ he replied trying to regain some humour. _Most of that was very real._

 _I never knew. You sent us into battle against someone you used to sleep with, and you never mentioned that._ She was still smiling, watching him. _I always wondered why he kept coming back._

 _You forget Jean, that it was an era when that was the main prejudice. Discretion was automatic,_ he replied. _And as we both know, those who you love and loved you know where to hit you the hardest. I should never have sent you against him, I should have tried to fix things._ In hindsight everything was so clear.

 _Did you ever..._ Jean hesitated, and then laughed. _God, I feel like you're having The Talk with me all over again. While everything went on, this whole time, did the two of you continue?_

 _There were a couple of occasions when the... how would you put it... sexual tension got the better of us. Usually in the middle of an argument_ Charles admitted. _It's... it was complicated. If you mean were we sneaking around having a relationship while we were battling , then no._

Jean took a sip of her tea, still watching him. He could tell she was distracted, shuffling through his mind. She had certainly gotten better, because he hardly felt what she was doing. _How stable is he right now?_ And the implied question of how stable Charles was, because he knew they perceived him as increasingly erratic.

 _Honestly? I am not sure._ Charles admitted. _In the scenario, they... just before we broke out, they tortured him and neither of us could stop them. He hasn't had chance to come to terms with any of it. He was horrified at the memories of himself just as I was about myself. Jean, we lived our lives again in there and it felt as real if not more so as this life._

 _Done that a few times._ In the future, with Scott, raising Nathan. Charles knew it was one of her oddly happier times, for all the state that the world had been in. _We're going to have to dismantle some of your other secrets, Charles. Now isn't the time to talk about them, but I'll be bringing them to the others..._ He didn’t even know which ones she was referring to, but there were flashes -- another team, gone and dead entirely, and the danger room.

 _I'm sorry Jean. I am not even aware of some of the secrets I apparently hold, and what I do remember makes me feel very ashamed of the person I have been,_ he admitted. It was a massive understatement. Never had he felt so shaken by events even though he had been in greater mortal peril in the past. They hadn't challenged his concept of himself as thoroughly as this had because it wasn't someone trying to make him see sense, it was himself judging his past actions and finding them wanting. Yes he had done some good, a lot of good, saved the world but saving the world didn't necessarily make someone a good person.

Enough bad people had saved the world for selfish reasons.

 _Charles, stop that._ Jean's tone sharpened while she set her cup down. _I'm not -- I'm trying to figure out what to do next. If we can just get everything out of the way first, then maybe things can be quiet here for a while. I mean, my god, our danger room is sentient and you never told us. How could you expect that to never backfire on us? If you leave us with all of these hidden messes to clean up..._

He didn't even remember that. Or did he? _I... don't remember properly. There was a reason, I'm sure there was a reason but I... you're right._ He obviously needed someone to be a moral compass for as it kept his own strong.

And it worked the other way around for Erik. Without that checking force... _So many unnecessary secrets._ Jean leaned back in her chair. _I'm going to have to finish this tomorrow, but you won't feel the strain quite so badly. I need to help Emma. Are you all right finding your way back?_ As if he was going to get lost in his own mind.

 _I will be fine Jean. May I link to Erik? We have subjectively experienced decades of effectively not being out of mind touch. It is unsettling._ More like losing the use of yet another limb.

 _Of course._ He felt Jean's control over him unfurl, slow enough to not flood him, but enough that he could reach out to Erik and feel the other man's unease and discomfort fade back when contact resumed.

 _What happened?_ and then overlaid, a sense of Emma's frustration.

"Focus. Stay focused on one thing. Charles, why did you ever teach him how to steer his mindscape?"

 _I don't think it was a conscious thing,_ Charles replied feeling a sense of rightness and contentment as he settled back into his usual place in Erik's mind. _Now Jean has patched me together, let’s see how we can help you Erik_

It was a struggle at first, because Emma Frost was still there and part of Erik remembered her very viscerally and not at all favourably, but she'd been part of his administration in Genosha. Charles could feel memories inter-twining, Erik's unwillingness to face most of what had happened making it harder to work with.

It took a moment, but Charles cleared a space to work from, and Emma materialized beside him in the hallway. "Ah, this is better. Thank you." She folded her arms over her chest, helping Charles shore up their space. "This hadn't been going well."

"This does not surprise me," Charles said and smiled. _Erik love, we need to work this out. It helps a great deal._ He projected reassurance and enveloped him. Erik was skittish and unsettled and he needed someone familiar there, especially when it came to his mind.

Erik had made a helmet to block out telepaths, tired of their meddling. It took Erik a few moments to join them in the hallway, coalescing unsteadily beside Charles. He looked strained, and this was Erik manifested as bare as he could manage, no protective suit, no helmet, just normal clothes and his arms folded over his chest. It actually gave Charles a good gauge of how he was feeling. _I told you what I wanted._

 _I know love,_ Charles reassured him. _I don't think I can do that Erik, not without starting on that path again._

 _I can't._ He was giving Emma distrustful looks, unable to communicate with Charles without her listening while she stood there. _Is it any wonder that I'm half-insane? I've been wounded and worshipped like a god, in turns, for decades._

 _And murdered,_ Emma added lightly. _I can organize your memories, Magnus, if you will stop fighting me. It isn't as if god and everyone doesn't know what horrible things you've shamelessly been involved in. It's a little late to be shamed by it all. Threatening the UN to get a country is the least of the things you've done._

 _Emma, that isn't helpful,_ Charles remonstrated. _Perhaps it would be better if Jean and I did this? I understand you would have difficulties with this situation Emma, and I appreciate it, but I don't think Erik will relax with you here._

 _And perhaps he doesn't need to relax. If you'll just keep him from interfering, Charles, I can make quick work of this._ She waved at a row of open doors that appeared down the hallway.

 _It's my *mind*,_ Erik countered. _I don't need you moving through it. I don't trust you._

 _Jean, please,_ Charles turned to find her presence. _I am not going to force him to do this. If Erik does not trust the person in his mind, then I will support that. I will stop you Emma if you do anything against his will._ He was suddenly very certain and adamant about that. He had had enough of trampling on people's wishes, of using that arrogance that often came with telepaths that they knew best.

Emma disappeared in a rush. Jean was far slower to arrive, but Erik seemed non-reactive to her appearance, even if it brought a different rush of memories to the fore, times at the school when Charles had left him there to run off with the Shiar, times at the school that had never happened, fight after fight after fight, a whirlwind of memories that Charles reached out to still. There was no way to keep Erik from rummaging – after all, Charles remembered how he'd always been, melancholy and trapped in memory in day to day life, living parallel in memory to begin with, moments overlapping. But always able to tell what was real and what was memory.

 _I'm afraid to say that's not very good._ Jean sounded a little sad, mostly dry. _Hello, Magnus. Or is it Erik? Max?_

 _Max died._ Erik shifted, leaned his presence against Charles's side.

 _I understand. Charles, could you help me?_

 _Of course Jean,_ he responded as he mentally held Erik. _I do have a lot of experience in Erik's mind and he in mine now._ He hoped it would stay that way, that this new information would not break the rapport completely.

They started at the beginning, leaving old horrors be. Charles lingered there for a moment, feeling the roots of Erik's troubles, feeling when he'd first started to section his mind off to survive, the anger. But he let it be, because it wasn't his to touch. Worked his way up to Oxford, and enjoyed that for a moment, worked up through the splinter. Jean was quiet, helping to shore up weak spots in his defences, weak barriers. Up through the present, always feeling Erik's anger at the root of it, anger and pride and a need to protect, and good intentions gone horribly wrong over and over.

They softened the memories, made them less competing, less important than they were. There were threads of depression in Erik's mind, threads of disassociation, mania, items Charles sorted through and decided were best addressed when Erik was actually in a physical room with him and they could talk. When there were no witnesses. God knew what pieces of illness were woven into his own mind that Jean had seen, what he needed to investigate of himself.

He would have to talk to Jean about that himself. It was a difficult delicate process and he was not working at his best potential, he knew that, but it would give Erik the clarity of thought and control he so desperately craved. He needed those memories to know, just as Charles did, what he shouldn't do. Where their well-meaning ideals and superiority could take them if they were not careful.

Where it had taken them.

He lost track of how long it took, but Erik didn't fight, didn't shut doors. There were things Charles turned away from out of courtesy, but they were mostly settled to begin with. There was no need to make old wounds bleed fresh.

 _Charles, if you're ready to go,_ Jean suggested.

 _See you in the real world Erik,_ he promised as they disengaged and he had to admit he felt disorientated and light headed when he opened his eyes again. And stiff as if he had been in one position for a long time.

"Thank you Jean," he said aloud looking around for Erik.

She pulled the curtain back, and then Erik's curtain. Erik was staring up at the ceiling, blinking, awake. It was a start. "Hank, I can attest that neither of them are under duress or being controlled by any entity," Jean smiled.

"Good. I'd like to keep you both here overnight. Magneto, we'll see to your disc problems in the morning." Hank covered his mouth with one paw to stifle a yawn. "If you've survived with it this long, it can wait until Dr. Rao and myself are awake."

"We apologise for keeping you up so long," Charles said. "I had no idea it had taken so long. Please, we'll be fine."

"Completely." Erik sounded a little dull, but Charles was going to wait until they had quiet.

Dr. Rao looked over to Hank, and back to Jean. "We'll leave the monitoring systems on, just in case."

Charles waited until they left and exhaled. _Erik? Are you okay? _he asked finally when they were alone.__

 _"I'm unsettled." Erik cleared his throat, and Charles watched him sitting up, checking the lines. He had an IV, and other sensors on that Charles knew were going to come off before Erik started to pull at them. He left the IV in. "And I think these are unnecessary. I somehow doubt I'm going to drop dead *now*."_

 _"I should hope not," Charles said. "Even so, you do have damage to your back Erik and I don't want you to be in further pain. I did not realise you were that injured."_

 _"I'd say that you saw when Wolverine stabbed me, but I think I deserved that." He unhooked himself from the monitors, turned them off with a gesture, and grabbed the IV off the hook on the wall. "The pain left me in a wheelchair. You would've been proud, I was very FDR about the matter. I can only assume it's gotten better since we were captured."_

 _"I would hope so," Charles agreed exhaling. "Is everything feeling manageable? Jean helped me a great deal, and things feel much better now." Despite the fact he was not sure he could look himself in the eye in the mirror anymore._

 _"It's manageable. I wasn't up to Emma's superiority." No, not with everything she'd done on the path to reform, Charles could understand that. He wasn't sure, for a moment, if he understood why Erik was hanging his IV on one of the hooks beside Charles's bed. _Because I'm tired, Charles. Because I miss you. This still goes both ways.__

Then it dawned. Erik was moving into his bed. "You know, this will actually be the first time we have slept together for... years. " And in the mindscape they had never dealt with that issue.

Distance, or space, or the fact that Charles was crippled. They always seemed to run into each other when Charles was mobile. Erik moved to the other side, shifting up behind him. "If you want me to go, I will."

"Never, Erik, " he said immediately. "It's just... well, I am not as fully functioning as I was in the mindscape."

It actually scared him a little that Erik might leave him.

There was a long moment of familiar motion -- Erik pulling at the bedding, shifting to get comfortable, pressing in close enough that the sensation of lips against the back of his neck wasn't a hallucination. He had an arm over Charles chest, the other one caught somewhere between them and half likely to fall asleep later. It felt good to lay on his side without having to carefully pile pillows and foam wedges to get there. "I thought we had this conversation once or twice before."

"Yes, but things are different. Or perhaps they are not as different as I believe," Charles said with a faint smile. It felt good, secure, wonderful to have him there even if they were in a difficult situation, they were in it together.

Erik's fingers stretched, spread, pressing lightly against his chest. Urging Charles to relax, to sink back a little and rest. _If this is as close to home as I can get, I'll take it._

* * *

If it wasn't for the loose mental connection and the feeling that Charles was taking time to himself to see what there was of the rooms that were still his, Erik supposed he would've been more tense to be alone in the infirmary with Beast and the human doctor. They hadn't cut him apart and left him for dead on the operating table, and he'd survived the anaesthetic, but they were conferring over information on the computer screens while he changed out of surgical scrubs and into borrowed clothing.

It was somewhat unsettling, though he was pleased to unsettle them in turn when he walked up behind them. Clearly they hadn't expected him to be awake so soon, but it was just a patch of pain at the centre of his back, gauze and stitches.

"Magneto...." McCoy had practically whirled on him and restrained himself. "...Erik. We thought you would still be recuperating. You should not be walking. You need to be resting."

"I've been resting for the past year." Erik leaned a hand on a table, looking McCoy calmly in the eyes. he seemed to have mutated again, one step closer to feral, but it didn't seem to make his mind any less sharp. "I'll rest later." He supposed he'd already scandalized the man by still being asleep behind Charles when they'd come back that morning. "Is there anything I need to know before I go?"

"Nevertheless, I have not long completed surgery," Hank replied. "And I may be good, but my skills are not good enough to have you walking and trying to leave the Infirmary so soon. I assured Charles you would not wake for several more hours, and would need to rest for several days. Have you been exposed to some healing agent?"

"I have no idea what I've been exposed to." He glanced at Dr. Rao, who was supposed to have done something useful with all of the blood she'd taken from him. "I still don't know how I survived Genosha." Maybe he'd developed some kind of intensive healing factor. Maybe he was simply that attuned to the EM fields in the planet, and he was siphoning it off somehow.

"It is very intriguing,” Hank mused thoughtfully. "It would be very useful to discover the agency. You are not as swift healing as Logan, but if it is an adjunct to your powers it might be possible to project it on to other. May I examine you again?"

No. No, he wanted to go, he wanted to talk the grounds and see the sky and know that what he was experiencing was real. He'd been in captive places too long.

"If you're quick with it." The place smelled too much like antiseptic, and he by default.

"I will take some blood in case whatever has caused this is still active. Unfortunately, scanners do not like your body," Hank said, swiftly doing so. "There is some evidence that electromagnetism can restore tissue."

Erik kept his sleeve rolled up while Hank used some quick machine to take the blood. The feel of the machine was very satisfying, and if he never needed to, Erik was sure he could replicate it. Very well worked, tightly engineered equipment. Beautiful circuitry.

He'd missed feeling things out, savouring them for their build, those last few weeks. "If that's all."

"I want you to be very careful," Hank cautioned. "You are just out of surgery and it might catch up with you."

Dr Rao was looking a little unsettled behind them, but he could understand that.

He was a madman and a mass murderer, and dead five times over. "I'll be outside enjoying fresh air." He turned, and gave them a wave as he headed for the infirmary doors. He'd be enjoying the fact that the school was still standing, and that it was alive with students.

It was good to get out, to move again. He felt restless, like he wanted to do something but he was not sure what exactly and standing under the sky seemed like a logical thing to do. All these students, all mutants and he knew a part of himself was decrying their drone like slavery to a hopeless ideal future, but he could ignore that now if he wanted. It wasn't a compulsion anymore.

He'd had his time. He'd had his time ten times over, and he'd fucked it up every damn time. So had Charles. Maybe Scott and Jean could make less of a hash of it than they had, and whoever else was there that wasn't Emma Frost.

Erik walked a ways away from the building, and sat down on a stone bench that hadn't been there in the 80s. It was warm under his hands, and he stretched out slowly, enjoying a moment that he hoped was real. Real, solid, no tricks this time. Nothing for him to do but exist.

It was of course too much to expect he would be left in peace. He didn't need to feel a swirling breeze to know that Storm no doubt was coming into land next to him.

"I am astonished to see you in the gardens Magneto," Storm said as she alighted on the grass.

He tilted his head, looking up at her. "I suppose I should be astonished as well. How are you?"

"Wondering how it is you have the good fortune to come back from the dead. You take a risk being here alone," she said choosing to sit down next to him. "Moods in the Mansion are... fraught."

"I'm sure they are." Erik couldn't be responsible for that. Couldn't fix what he'd done. The only solution was to be willing to accept whatever happened to him. "I wonder how I'm not dead a few times over myself."

"And the Professor. We all believed him gone as well. Many of us grieved for him," she said in a softer tone. Many of them , but not all of them. Like they were all so perfect. He did remember how often each of them had made terrible mistakes that even he knew about. There were probably more.

"He's very much alive and well, though our circumstances have been strange." And the past year had been better for him than the preceding thirty, in terms of comfort and enjoyment. "Given the chance to change our pasts... We did."

"So Jean told us. I am afraid that there are some who do not believe it," Storm said with a serenity in her voice. "Wolverine is particularly vocal on the subject. Cyclops is wary, but in a strange way more about the Professor than you."

Erik almost expected that. After all, he and Scott had never had a trust relationship to violate. He'd never actually served as a father figure, and a trusted confidant. Charles had, and Charles had broken his image of himself in Cyclops's mind. "And yet you are here, attempting to warn me of this. I appreciate it, but I have to ask why?"

"Because I believe in redemption," Storm replied. "What are your intention now Magneto? There is unfortunately nothing left of Genosha."

"Except human encroachment and kidnappers." Erik felt his jaw clench at the thought of what was going on, now that he had a head clear enough to handle it. "I don't have intentions right now. I... will go where Charles goes. That was where we went wrong before."

"Jean had expressed the idea that you were in love. Frankly that part of the story was considered very ...strange." Storm gave a wry smile. "There was only one person there who believed that part of it was genuine. I was very surprised."

"In reality. This reality. I met Charles in college, after the war. He was the first person I'd trusted in years, who didn't want to hurt me or convert me, who didn't care that I probably had every sign of PTSD and wasn’t really… all right. I left when he became engaged to Moira." It was a shame Moira had broken his heart not long afterwards, a waste. Erik looked sideways at her. "Out of curiosity, who was it?"

She smiled. "Gambit. He said we were too prejudiced to see the obvious," Storm said. "I suppose he is right."

"Yes, well. That is a surprise." He snorted, unable to stop the reflexive smile that went with that thought. "It's true, though we did go on our different paths after a few years. In the simulation, we... didn't. He found me a job in England, and I stayed while he finished school. We still fought, but after that, it was just easy. The life I never had. If we could come up with something constructive to do, away from the baggage that our names carry now, I think we would. I don't know yet."

"You are not here to take over the mansion once again? The both of you?" There was a flicker of annoyance at that. The mansion was Charles' after all, they did seem to forget that sometimes.

"Despite that it's Charles's property, he's clearly not welcome here. There's no sense in pushing the matter." But for the moment, Erik could enjoy the bright trees, the manicured grass, the 'forest' that was also tamed and tended in its own way.

"It is... hard. You have rewritten your lives, we on the other hand have not," Storm replied. "Perhaps given the choice we would all step away from the unending fight."

"I don't think it's too late to make choices now that take into account past failures. We changed nothing -- we just acknowledged how badly we'd ruined our lives. And others." Genosha... wasn’t his fault, wasn't, but it was, he'd been running it badly, running it wrong, but that didn't make the massacre something the island deserved. If he hadn't been so unhinged, there might've been more security, more protection.

There was no way to tell.

"Sometimes, that is enough," Storm said her eyes flicking over towards the shadows. "Remy, have you finished eavesdropping?"

"Such a dirty way of puttin' it cher," the other mutant said, stepping out of the shadows. He saluted Erik with an insolent flip of a playing card. "Gambit thinking Cyke would have his guts for crocodiles if something happened, non?"

"I think Charles would kill me if I did something untoward." He held his hands out in a half gesture to show he was unarmed. "No helmet, no weapons." Not that he needed them when he was in their inner sanctum.

"Eh, " Gambit shrugged. "Gambit thinking weapons are optional." He gave a lazy smirk even as the card he was toying with glowed and then faded. "You finally gettin' it on with the Professor, non?"

He opened his mouth, and then sighed, watching that glow fade. "If you must put it so bluntly."

"Oui," Gambit smiled a little even as Storm sighed.

"Was there something you wanted Gambit?" she asked. "When you do this, I tend to come back and find parts of the grounds in pieces."

Erik leaned back on his hands again, watching them. His back was sore, more tired than anything, and as soon as they went on their merry way, he was considering stretching out and dozing until some signal that Charles had had enough apologizing for past sins, real or imagined.

"Jus' wanted to check 'im out. Know what it's like to be on the outside an' under suspicion."

He saw Storm wince a little at that, as if she had been trying very hard to forget that.

No, Charles's X-men didn't play nice with each other, and while seldom did people expect him to, it wasn't as if it was defeating some greater cause. "If there's anything I can help you with while I'm here, let me know. Other than that, I plan to stay out of your way as much as possible."

"Jus keepin' an eye out for mon ami, Wolverine," Gambit said. "He is not 'appy with you bein’ back. From the dead."

"Mhm, better to get that over with then let him stew." But not quite then. He really wasn't spoiling for a fight yet, hadn't yet hit that level of ease and quiet for long enough. There was still too much to sort through in his head.

"Stormy will zap him on the butt if he pushy," Gambit drawled.

"Remy, I will do no such thing," Storm protested.

"Course you will cher, seen you do it before," Gambit answered. He narrowed his glowing red on black eyes at Erik again. "Sometime we talk, non. Later?”

"Yes." He inclined his head, sure that it would be an... interesting, stimulating conversation, if nothing else. And likely an argument. He was insane if he expected for none of the discussions that were to come to not end in an argument.

"Bien," he murmured and slipped back into the shadows. It was a bit odd really. Gambit had a lot of reasons to hate him but that hadn't felt overly hostile.

"I am sure he does not mean to be threatening. Many things have occurred with him since you were last alive. With us all in fact," Storm said.

"I honestly expected nothing less, given our histories." Even if they felt as dull and as textureless to him as a film, not quite real. Flattened out, in a way that he found personally relieving. There were many memories that weren't, but those were the ones from the timeline that felt right, for better or for worse.

"Perhaps when you have had a break you could catch up with current world information," she suggested. "I do know Charles has found it quite difficult to deal with."

He closed his eyes for a moment, not quite willing to have an interest in that, though he assumed he must. Needed to, to function at some point. "What new travesty is being visited on us?"

"At this moment? We are recovering from the impact of what happened at Genosha. So many of us gone," she replied.

Sixteen million. Erik kept his eyes closed, nodding. He'd been there, and he'd survived, and he hadn't had time to process it, hadn't had time to really consider what had happened. Didn't want to think about what it implied that he'd survived two holocausts, or what had caused the last one. "Now is not the time to fight among ourselves."

"People do strange things when they grieve," Storm murmured. "It is difficult. The rest of the world was coming to recognize that we were a world power... could be one again. So many of us..." she sighed. "I honestly would like to know what Charles wants to do."

"We'll have to wait and see." He sat there for a moment longer, then opened his eyes and stood up. Best to just head in, as if he stayed there more of the x-men would likely come to find him. "Thank you for your time, Ororo."

She inclined her head and he could see now that her presence had effectively warned off others from coming closer. "You are most welcome. Perhaps you would like to go and help yourself to something to eat."

"And find Charles, yes." A few newspapers, perhaps, and a corner to read in. There were worse fates, if he could just find space in a mansion to be left alone.

* * *

It came to something when being in what was once his own home was giving him a headache. Charles had to admit, there was a childish part of him that wanted to say it hadn't been him, that wasn't who he was and why had they put him up on a pedestal in the first place if it hurt so much to have him knocked down.

Problem was, it had been him that had put himself up there in the first place.

It had taken years, of course, of isolation and incident after incident, and then he'd had things that needed maintaining. Now, without having been there to personally tend all of his dirty secrets, everything had fallen into the open, exposed to his students and left for them to deal with. It was little wonder that they were all tense at him.

Jean was probably the most welcoming, and that had caveats with it. Scott...

Scott was a different problem.

He didn't know what to say, and he was usually never at a loss for words. His existence and power was in words but he couldn't think of anything to make it right. Scott was uneasy that he was going to sail in and take over, that he was going to trick them again, betray them, betray him...

Again.

"I need to know what you're planning." And there was the crux, because he wasn't planning anything.

"Scott," Charles exhaled. "I'm sure Jean has told you I'm not in any position to be planning anything." He said that calmly and simply as possible hoping to soften the hostility.

How long? It wasn't even something Scott said aloud, just an angry drifting thought, that left Charles tenting his hands in front of him in an effort to focus. They were in his office, but it clearly wasn't his office anymore. Scott was using it, and enough things had changed that indicated to Charles that he'd been thought well and truly dead. No shrines for the missing Charles Xavier, no. "She mentioned that. I don't know... what to do about that, either."

"Hopefully I would think you would not feel a need to do anything Scott," he said wearily. "Things have changed between us or perhaps gone back to the way they should have been. That applies to you too."

"Magneto..." Scott exhaled through his teeth. Charles didn't need to see his eyes to work out what he was thinking, didn't need to be a telepath. "Is becoming something like Che Guevera in our community. We had a kid come to class last week with a 'Magneto was right' shirt on. When the students find out he's alive... And the other communities that have cropped up since Genosha."

"The irony is that Erik now mainly believes that he was wrong," Charles said with a faint smile. "If you are asking me Scott, whether we are intending to take up the revolutionary mantle, the answer will be no."

"It will still need to be dealt with." Scott leaned back in his chair. "And, I... I don't know where to fit you in, Charles. You still have a presence."

"You mean politically," he asked trying to help Scott come to terms with this change.

"You, Cassandra outed you to the world before you left. Yes. And here, in the school." Scott wasn't sure which one was harder to get a grasp on, and Charles didn't want to and did want to reach out and find which part was more problematic for Scott.

Charles closed his eyes briefly. "I gathered," he said. "It might be sensible for us to have a low profile."

 _Are you still being flayed for information?_

It was almost a relief that Erik reached out, feeling almost jaunty. He was supposed to be resting, still, but that was as likely as fish flying in a landlocked city. "Until you get a better feeling for the current time." And even then, Scott wouldn't want him as a school administrator.

 _Lightly flayed_ he replied. "Scott, I don't need to read your mind to tell we are not exactly welcome here. That much is very obvious. It is difficult to understand and accept because I don't think I am the Charles Xavier you knew who essentially betrayed you all. But that does not absolve me of responsibility, I know that."

"It's not that you're not welcome, sir, it's just that... I don't know where your place should be here. You *ran* the school, but we've been working with Warren on that aspect, and on public relations, and it's... been a while since you taught." And yet not that long ago at all. Maybe that was the answer if he stayed.

 _I'm going to bring you a sandwich. Storm and Gambit have given me an interesting verbal run around, though I was expecting worse. Do you still have an office, or...?_

 _Apparently not,_ Charles replied. "Then perhaps we should establish where my place, and Erik's can be for the time being. Obviously this is not my office any more - is there a room free we can stay in? I think you should just assume we do not have any level of authority. Frankly, I don't want it back if it made me someone you all respond to in a hostile way."

That left Scott looking a little speechless, but he nodded. "It, Jean was going to make sure there's a room that's all right for you." Wheelchair accessible, even if he was using an infirmary wheelchair and not his own. God knew where that was.

It felt oddly like Erik's occasional sense of always being a refugee. Nothing really to call his own but his body, his mind, stripped of his possessions, his property, over and over. He felt a warm familiar contact in the area of his mindfield that extended automatically now to Erik. _Tchht. Charles. If you really feel that way we can steal the good silver, pawn it, and look for a tropical island._

 _I'm sick of being looked at like I'm going to sweep in and take over. I thought I was coming home to people I could trust. Frankly, I'm beginning to question why I bothered,_ Charles replied while turning to face Scott.

"May I ask that the room be big enough for two?" he asked as he prepared to wheel himself out. There was a twitch of anger there. Asking for permission to stay in one of his own rooms for God’s sake.

There was a squint at the edge of Scott's face. "Sure. That's... never not going to be strange." He smiled though, and apparently it *was* funny, or some part of it was funny, and Charles mostly wanted to leave. "We'll, uh.. Give Jean a second." God knew she and Scott had probably taken over the master bedroom.

"No hurry, I'll go meet Erik. I understand he has been released from the Infirmary," Charles said as he turned to leave. He had to admit it was probably reaction but the person he was now felt aggrieved at the suspicion, but his rational mind knew they had good reason to feel the way they did.

It didn't make it feel any less strange to him, any less alien. He left then, hands on unfamiliar wheels, feeling the catch of the casters that weren't quite right, the loose play of a wheelchair that no one kept up to snuff for any functional, daily use. It made for an interesting and oddly irritating trip to the kitchen, to find Erik making spartan sandwiches, and tea.

"So eager to escape, then." Two young students Charles had never met were peering at Erik through the doorway. One of them was much too old to be peeking around corners like that, but the other one had eyes that stretched out to stalks. Erik was blandly ignoring them.

"Indeed," Charles replied. "It is... trying to adjust." He wheeled himself in. _And I find my optimism in coming here severely afflicted._

 _The few times I came here over the years, Charles, it was a refuge because I still believed in you. I remembered..._ That conversation about what they wanted to do, before they'd left for the funeral, before Moira, before things had fallen apart. _You were the stability I was afraid to ask for._ "Still take it the same?"

"Yes please,” Charles answered politely. _I will always be there for you Erik, but now I think perhaps our place is not here. They look at me and see the old me, the one that did everything I feel is horrifying. They are doing their best but..._

"We can stay here and wait it out, and see if it changes. If you want to." Erik didn't care, which made it easier, a palpable not-caring, when he had cared before. The mansion had been his home, but this wasn't the same mansion, and it wasn't Charles's home anymore, as frustrating as that was. _I think you'll feel better if you know you've attempted to resolve things to the best you can. Before we leave._ He gathered together the tray quickly, then levitated it off of the counter. "Lead the way."

It was probably best to go to one of the communal living areas as the room was not yet ready. "I don't know. I remember caring for them all but..." They remembered him betraying them. And never the twain should meet. _I didn't think it would be like this Erik. It is like my family turning on me. I never wanted that._

And perhaps he wasn't as mentally robust with regard to the effects of things as he had hoped.

When he wanted things, he got them, usually. Not world peace, no, but in a smaller day to day sense of the idea. He wanted, he had. There was no real bracing for disappointment except in his grander political moments. "If you'd come back, without me, without changing, do you think you would have a warmer reception for not being able to feel the cold?"

Yes. That was probably true.

They headed, quiet for a moment, to a room that Charles remembered was a niche, a little sitting space where Erik could sit and Charles could roll into and they might be able to eat lunch in relative peace. "Anyway, we're not homeless. There must be hundreds of crashed asteroids and space bases I built..."

"Did you make them as a hobby Erik?" Charles asked distracted from his thoughts for a moment. "I was thinking maybe of going somewhere a little familiar. Creating things. Being together. I would have said being domestic might bore you after a time, but I seem to recall you revelled in it." He smiled a little at that, remembering the metal reindeer led sleigh that had enchanted children in their shared reverie.

Erik's face heated a little as he set the tray down and settled in, passing Charles a cup. "I was happy being happy. I enjoyed many aspects of that life." Charles stretched out face down on the mattress, the half awareness that Bobby was running down the hallway to watch cartoons and pour sugar on his cereal because there was no adult supervision until at least ten am Saturday mornings. Erik had garnered the extra quiet time by explaining that Charles helped him with meditation and religious observance on Saturday mornings, so bruised knees and battered egos usually could wait an extra hour or two, while Erik lazed with Charles in bed, kissed and stroked his skin.

"Move to England and start a school there. Once this doesn't feel like head-spinning."

Charles smiled a little. "Perhaps Oxford needs a couple of research fellows or a new faculty," he suggested whimsically. "I have property in England of course."

"We could." Something for Charles to think on, though a long retirement was possible, too. They had time to decide. "In Kent. Strange British cities that remind me of last names and rabbit warrens."

Charles laughed. "And which city is that? " he asked. "There are many strangely named towns and cities in England."

"Boughton-under-Blean." Erik took a sip of his tea, and slouched faintly, still watching Charles. "Your chair feels like it's made out of paperclips."

"Thank you Erik, that's not very reassuring," Charles commented. "My arm muscles are not what they should be."

"None of my muscles are. They had us for almost a year." Plenty of time for muscle to waste away, though Charles suspected Erik would recover it quickly. His own had taken a great deal of time to build up in the first place. "I'll make you a better chair."

"I would appreciate it," Charles replied with feeling of relief. "Mm. What is in the sandwich?"

"Random lunch meats and mustard." Erik gave a quiet laugh, looking sideways at Charles. "That's how you can tell you haven't had a solid meal in a while. It doesn't take much to taste fantastic."

"My tastes used to be so refined," Charles complained with good humour. "How the mighty have fallen."

That was a little too close a sentiment to what he was feeling. It was unnatural to feel this way.

Out of place, half deprived -- it wasn't him, wasn't his experience. Erik cocked an eyebrow at him, taking another bite, and if the next words out of Erik's mouth were smart, Charles supposed he deserved them. He'd already spent most of the morning being dressed down, but Erik was the last person to complain to about deprivation.

 _You're broadcasting. Half of my hardship was self-inflicted, Charles. The other half, you had nothing to do with. I don't see how it makes this... this, your situation any less-so._

 _I'm just being self-pitying Erik,_ he said a little regretfully. _My ego is bruised, my emotions too and they keep reminding me of the fact just when I think I'm under control. Rationally I know what I'm doing but it doesn't make it easier._

 _You're allowed._ Erik shifted, moved to the far side of the sofa, as near as he could to Charles, and moved the tray along with him. "Should I set a timer? Give you 72 hours to mope, without me trying to fix it?"

He smiled again and shook his head. "You can stop me from moping when you see it happen. It really is childish, but it turns out that I'm not as perfect as people would like to think."

"No, you're not." Erik crossed his legs loosely at the ankle, finishing off his sandwich before taking another sip of tea. "And I'm arrogant, quick tempered, egotistical, and make poor decisions. So, mope."

 _You're also very attractive, determined, brilliant and exciting to know,_ Charles sent by way of an endearment. "Well you've put me off moping now, broken my concentration."

"I expect to see it again a few times over the coming days." Erik leaned a little, peering at the wheelchair in that way that made Charles reach out, just to see what Erik was seeing. It was a wonderful way to see the world, wires and metal and the sense of where things linked together, the taste and sound of metals.

"If you want to experiment, I find it oddly fascinating to watch," Charles said, relaxing a little. "It's amazing to behold."

"Better than CNN." Erik held one hand out, completely for show, and Charles watched and felt when the chair shifted a little, the metal slowly moving, changing. Erik still had so much control, fine control even if he didn't have the immediately available memories to go with it. His tea barely vibrated in the cup.

Charles smiled and nearly missed the approach of someone else into their vicinity until they were just outside the room which was sloppy of him. He recognized the presence of Kitty lurking around out there and braced himself for another uncomfortable reunion.

"Come on in Kitty."

"I'm still not any good at eavesdropping on you." She quirked a smile, peering at them both a little curiously. Erik straightened up, and Charles felt his chair settle on the floor. "So, the rumour is true."

"Oh? There’s a rumour?" Charles asked blandly. "A rumour of what exactly?"

"That you're *alive*, and back." Her eyebrows were crawling up to her forehead. "And that Magneto survived. No one survived Genosha, no, well, Emma. Emma turned into *diamond* to survive, how did you make it?"

"I don't know. I suppose metal was involved." Erik looked like he was thinking, reaching, and then it struck Charles. Kitty's father had been in Genosha. Kitty's father had died there. "It usually is."

"It was a terrible tragedy, Kitty," Charles felt he had to say. "I am very sorry for the loss of your father. I'm afraid my memory is not completely together yet, but I know that much."

It seemed trite and ineffectual somehow.

"I." She hadn't been expecting that, maybe. Her face twisted, crunched with emotion. Erik cleared his throat.

"If I could have done something to save them, I would've."

She was shaking her head, one hand over her mouth and nose. "No, I, god, I just wanted to see if you were both really here, not..."

 _I'm sorry Kitty _he offered the apology again touching the confused edges of her pain and grief and  
soothing them slightly. "I know many hold me responsible in many ways and an apology seems a small thing to offer."__

 _She exhaled shakily, leaning a shoulder against the doorway. She was quiet for a minute, quiet and tense and on the edge of crying. It was Erik who broke the silence first. "I think you should sit down." The cup that levitated over to her from the tray after Erik poured tea into it was a little startling for her, but she took it, and sat down on the other sofa._

 _Charles let the quiet stretch on, trying to sooth down the frayed edges of her nerves with his mind, while Erik watched her. "There isn't... Any memorials for Genosha. The service you took me to in DC, when I was younger, when you taught here..."_

 _ _When I was sane, for a time._ Charles felt that, tiredness and rough amusement mingled together. "After the war, it was hard to find relatives, hard to find people to grieve with. It took years for it to not feel like a mark of shame to me. Perhaps we can do something about that."_

"It would be a worthwhile cause," Charles agreed. "People shouldn't forget those who were killed just because they wanted to live at peace. We need to remember it."

Kitty gave a tight nod, looking down into the cup. She took a sip, and the quiet stretched on before she said, "If you'll excuse me."

"If you wish to talk about it again..."

 _I will always listen,_ Charles said. He didn't offer to manipulate, or change things or memory wipe her to take away the pain. Just to listen.

There was another nod, and then she was gone.

 _She's guilty that she survived. She thinks she should've been with her father._ Erik stretched, shifted restlessly. "We should see if you have a room yet."

"We should," Charles said, saddened by the contact. Kitty was usually one of the more upbeat of the x-men, and it was disorientating to see her so distressed.

"I promised them a haven, free from the threats, and wasn't able to protect them. And what has changed because of it? They held us captive to turn history their way again." Erik shifted, stood up, and reached for Charles's chair. "I... I think we won't have to think for very long to come up with things we need to do."

"No. But we may need to think long and hard about the possible consequences of what needs to be done," Charles admitted. "Sometimes, not using the power you have is the best use of all."

They needed to take time to consider what they were doing, and not rush into things. Plan and weigh and plot, which Erik was very good at when he could focus. He was still in that in the moment state, though, very present in the now, and that would take time for Erik to shift out of into something new. Charles could feel him still tweaking at his wheelchair, even as he put his hands on the wheels and started to move himself.

* * *

Charles had assured him no one would hear anything, not even a thought but that didn't make Erik any less self-conscious. Not that they had the energy to do much, not really. Charles had been worn down by the barrage of thoughts he wanted to instinctively let in, but in reality, those people thought badly of him or treated him with suspicion. As Erik had pointed out, he was used to that, but Charles was not and it had exhausted him more than he had thought. That meant finding a quiet spot away from the house to have breakfast was even more imperative. This was the downside to being a telepath he supposed. It was not as easy just to ignore people and carry on.

It was very easy for Erik to ignore people and carry on, though. The bedroom wasn't ideal -- too much traffic in the hall, and the longer Charles tried to sort out the emotions he was getting from other people, without any relief, the longer it would take for Charles to have time to work on his own reactions.

And while he had an idea of a place, it was probably best if he got breakfast while Charles lingered in bed half asleep before readying himself for the day. That was something else, another boundary they needed to work on. They weren't in the reality where Charles's injuries were fresh, but it felt like it was, and there was some bristling over Erik offering to be helpful.

It was strange to them and he had some perspective on it from his own experiences. He was hoping that whatever had occurred to heal him, had an application for Charles in the future. But he wasn't going to sow false hope.

There were more people in the mansion than he recalled ever seeing before. Young students, more of them than he recalled at least. Despite the blow to the mutants of Genosha, they were at least flourishing.

He was working very carefully to not think about Genosha until there was time to think about it. Better time, a safer time when there weren't other concerns, which was a familiar coping mechanism, and yet. It was one he knew worked very well.

Erik didn't stop, didn't linger or talk to anyone, just walked to the kitchen, thinking about dragging Charles outside with him. It was odd that he hadn't felt his year trapped inside but he could still yearn to be *outside* in good weather and sun.

Gambit was lounging at the kitchen table, with a steaming black coffee that was strong enough to strip paint from the walls from the smell of it. It was also obvious from what he was wearing that he wasn't up early as much as back late.

"Magneto, mon ami, have a coffee," Gambit invited with a lazy gesture of his cup. "It livens up everything non?"

"Or it wakes the dead." He reached out for Charles, and felt a soothing, half-groggy contact in response. Hurrying back to the bedroom would gain him nothing but a new argument about catheters.

He reached for a mug from the counter, and checked that it was actually clean.

"Oui, well you would know Magneto...or do you prefer Erik now?" Gambit peered at him over sunglasses. There was a slight stress on his name for some reason.

It was strange, and possibly prelude to a confrontation. Erik pulled the pot over to him, and poured. It was burnt, but coffee was coffee, and he'd take the risks inherent in eating and drinking anything worth eating or drinking after such a long time without normal nutrition. Another thing he'd done before and hoped to never have to do again. "Magnus will do." He had enough names, enough people he'd been, and Magnus would suffice for most of them.

"Bien, Magnus. You and the Professor have survived the night then? Someone must have slipped Logan somethin'," Gambit drawled. He was showing a lot of lean lines and hard muscle, and his pants were definitely showing his assets.

It was overall, somewhat bizarre. "Possibly." He checked the cupboards casually, trying to reacquaint himself with them, and smirked a little when he found almond milk. With that many students, and no doubt an industrial kitchen elsewhere in the facility, the 'teacher' kitchen was bound to have a few odd items that would settle well.

Much better for coffee than milk. "Charles is still sleeping. I expect we'll be keeping a low profile today."

"Mm. Perhaps. Mebbe, you should stay in the pool house. 's where I stayed after my exile," he said raising his eyebrows.

He almost asked 'which time', but kept it to himself as he took a sip of coffee, and sat down across from Gambit. "This wasn't quite what Charles was expecting when we came here."

"People forget sometimes the Professor is a man too," Gambit said taking his glasses off. "Mm." There was no doubt about it, the man was exuding raw sex appeal.

Erik leaned back in his chair, watching Gambit as he took another sip of his coffee. "Do you mind if I ask what the hell you're doing?"

"Moi? Nuthin'?" Gambit said. "Jus' feelin' a little frisky mon ami. How about you?"

He cradled his coffee mug in his hand, not quite actively reaching out to Charles, but keeping it open. "Not finding this particularly interesting. This is something like assuming all straight women are interested in you because you have a cock."

Gambit laughed a little. "You mean they aren't? Mon dieu, no one tell Gambit this..." It stepped up in intensity, that attraction and Erik finally remembered that was one of Gambit's abilities. His charm which was potent if you were not aware of it.

He squinted at Gambit, and took another sip of his coffee. There was certainly no place in the world for 'fair' and powers, but there were also places that crossed the line, lines that had been recently crossed and left Erik already angry. "Stop."

"You're no fun," Gambit pouted, but some of that compelling feeling did edge back. "You disappoint me mon ami. Thought you might show Gambit a good time."

"No. No, we may be short on allies here, but I'd rather face Wolverine." He pushed the chair back, stood up. Might as well start putting together breakfast before anything else uncomfortable came up.

"I was jus' testing you Magnus," Gambit said a more serious tone. "The Professor, I know what it's like. He don't need someone who chases after any good lookin' ass, non?"

Erik stared down at the man for a moment, trying to not react, trying to not punch Gambit because he was trying to be peaceable for Charles's sake. "The funny thing is, it's always gone the other way with Charles and I. But that was years ago. Your concern is... misplaced."

"I see that. Professor's a friend to me," Gambit said and then shrugged. "Eh.. you want to hit Gambit, we can go spar sometime."

"Sometime when I'm not suffering muscle atrophy." He found and levitated out a tray, and then went looking for bread.

He didn't want to have to deal with these strange interactions. People hating, or testing him somehow, or expecting things. Possibly Gambit didn't know that in his mind he had not long been sexually assaulted and did not want that to surface again.

"Morning," Jean said yawning a little as she came in. "Gambit, seriously, aren't you meant to be taking a lesson today?"

"I be fine Red," Gambit replied. "Coffee is a miracle."

"Bread’s over there Erik," Jean said absently. "Who ate all the cereal? I bought extra this week."

"Iceman," Gambit said placidly, as if nothing at all had happened.

Erik reached for the bread, and then opened the fridge to get butter, eggs. He could make french toast. Cut some fruit.

"I'll have words with Bobby later," Jean said darkly. "Oh hey, can you bring out the milk too? I'm going to make Scott some pancakes."

"Pancakes? Enough for Gambit?" the other man asked sounding more like the age he actually was.

"No. You always tell us you cook the best of all, do your own... especially as I can feel what you've been doing Remy," Jean said as a warning. "I apologise for him Erik. What can I say? He's an idiot."

"I suppose it's better than him trying to kill me." He grabbed the milk as well, and passed it over to her, leaving the eggs where they could both reach. Charles had never been what Erik would call a proficient cook. Or a decent one.

"Just a little fidelity test cher," Gambit muttered.

"Like those have worked so well in the past for you Remy," Jean reminded as she fetch a bowl to make batter in. "The Professor is a grown man and able to look after his emotions well enough."

Or not well enough. Erik went about the relatively simple steps to make french toast, focusing on what he was doing rather than the numerous potential threats that could walk in or out of the kitchen at any moment.

"Hank wants to see you Erik, " Jean commented. "Check up on you and presumably look at test results. Maybe you can both go see him after breakfast."

"Mmm." Erik checked the griddle temperature, deciding to at least try and play along. The Jean he remembered had never existed, and it left him feeling strained. "Have you all finished grilling Charles?"

"People have been grilling him?" Jean queried looking concerned. "Directly?"

He leaned a hip against the edge of the counter, pulling a fork to his hand. "That's the impression I've been given, yes." With her husband in the lead, and the strain of the last few days in the system piling up onto a new reality.

"Hmm. He's not recovered enough for that level of direct confrontation," she shook her head. "Whatever you were in, it was feeding off of his psionic powers to sustain the field. He was in effect using his powers continuously for the entire time you were in that system."

"For a year." Give or take a few days. Erik turned the toast over. A full year of constant exertion, to control Erik in the system. To control, and to grant access to a reality that they both wanted. "He's still using them extensively. I was never sure what level he used them at before this." Erik's were always on, always at some level of stress because if he couldn't feel the fields around him, it was like having an eye put out.

"He probably feels at less than full strength at the moment," Jean acknowledged. "Exhausted and he probably won't realise why. I'll talk about it with him. I suspect he feels diminished."

"It certainly doesn't help to come home and find out that you're not only dead but unwelcome." Charles wouldn't say it, wouldn't put it out there, but someone needed to stand up for him, because there was a difference between acknowledging that someone wasn't perfect, and battering them for it over and over again.

Gambit's first mutant on mutant attempt at a genocide standing as an excellent example, though Erik was sure he could go down the line for each and every member of the house and find similar travesties. And because Jean was the same sort of always on telepath, he shared it, putting that idea to the fore.

Jean winced a bit at that. "It's...difficult. They can't understand he's changed, they don't see it in the same way as I have done. It's difficult to put aside the feelings of betrayal that many of us have. Give them time and they will understand."

"He's changed and he hasn't changed, and there is the problem. Charles has always tried to protect people, making their choices for them where viable, keeping secrets because he deems it better for their safety, their sanity. And he's going to continue, I have no expectations to the contrary. No one told him 'no', and no one fought him and pulled at him and preferred to take those secrets out immediately and suffer the consequences then rather than decades later. You all think you trusted him, but you didn't trust that he'd still, I don't know, give you what you all wanted from him if you stood up and said 'This is daft', and fought."

He could feel every bit of energy in the room, and magnetic fields of every piece of metal, enough to make his own teeth ache. "You're sycophants, disappointed that he stopped protecting you."

Gambit snorted in the background. "Not me mon ami, wasn't him who turn on me, even if he can't break my shields."

Jean looked at him. "There is some truth to that. He needed someone to give him perspective and you're right, we were too young, not in his league then to think of him as being anything less than perfect. He told me that he needed you because you kept him questioning himself and whether it was the right thing to do. "

"You're all adults now, and you showed no curiosity in how this place worked and what else might be going on. You've *been* adults for a couple of decades now. You have children of your own who are, from what I remember, willing to call a spade a spade." He turned the toast over again.

"And once a relationship has been established it is difficult to step out of those roles," Jean replied. "I am not making excuses Erik, just giving reasons. But Charles has lived a life over in the last year. We haven't."

"No. In the last year you've taken over his home, and worked yourself up into a state of righteous indignation over all the things he did, and now you have a target. Do I need to say anything about the futility of holding a grudge for the sake of holding a grudge, or can I simply stand as an example of how effective that course of action is?"

Jean twitched a smile at him. "You certainly may stand if you like. Your toast is burning though. People will come to their senses Erik, of that I am sure. And perhaps they can stop thinking of Charles as a mentor and teacher and more as a man as a result."

He slid it off the griddle, not quite yet burned. "Hopefully so." Erik felt a familiar brush of contact. _Morning. I'm ruining breakfast._

 _Marvellous,_ Charles said in his mind _Sorry, I seem pretty lazy this morning. And I still feel tired. Oh I see you have company....oh good lord, did Remy really do that?_

He grabbed a coffee pot, and another mug before going in search of fruit, bananas maybe. _Yes. I think if you're up to it, there's a clear spot at the edge of the woods where we might be able to eat in peace._

 _I'll meet you there,_ Charles replied. _I am capable of dressing myself and have done so. If my arms run out of push you can levitate me if you get there sooner. I definitely need a better chair._

"Say hi to the Professor for me," Jean said and it looked like she had a thoughtful expression.

It distracted him a little, but he nodded, grabbing an apple as well. "I will." _I think it might take me longer to repair that one than it would to start with nothing and build from scratch. I'll meet you outside._

 _I'm on my way,_ Charles replied and there was the impression of an affectionate warm kiss that made him smile a little.

Domestic with Charles was a peculiar mix of normal and extraordinary, which Erik was finding himself still enamoured with. He gathered up the tray, and headed for the side door, ignoring Jean, Gambit, anyone else he passed because it was just another fight he didn't have the patience for. Charles hadn't really changed, after all, and neither had Erik. It was just the differences made when there was someone there to look at what he was doing and say "hold on, you'll hurt yourself if you do that", and "That's the dumbest thing you've ever suggested."

Both he and Charles had always been better together than they had been apart. The difference was now that they knew that now rather than wondered about it. He wouldn't give up that at all, and he didn't want Charles to become bitter and hurt by the sort of rejection he knew he had face in his life.

The grounds were less crowded-feeling than the house had been. Too early in the morning still for children to be doing anything other than sleeping in and getting into their first rumblings of play. He wasn't even sure if it was a class day or not, though from Jean's idling, he suspected not.

Or if there were classes, maybe it was just one or two. It was a nice day outside, bright and crisp enough to speak of autumn to the senses, and the sky was a bright clear blue that made him itch to go flying. Maybe he would later.

He headed towards the woods, seeing the figure of Charles doggedly pushing himself towards the spot he had no doubt seen in his mind.

"I'm amazed that chair made it." He gave Charles a vague wave, catching up to him quickly.

"I was... trying to get here first," Charles said a little out of breath with exertion. "I think I was planning to look smug. You have thwarted my evil plans yet again."

"I don't quite feel like the megalomaniac I'm expected to be." Erik sat down on the bench, offering Charles a mug. "Rest. Jean mentioned you've been using your abilities straight for a year."

"Something that I did not realise. It meant I was constantly contributing to our cage," Charles said taking the mug. "Mm, breakfast alfresco."

"Only somewhat charred." He settled the tray so Charles could reach it with ease, simple to do, effortless. It would've taken concentration before. Now it was as simple as placing it on a shelf. "I preferred your contributions to theirs."

"Well yes," he said smiling. "Obviously my life's ambition is not to change the world but to have lazy Sunday’s in bed with you. Who would have thought?"

"We were changing the world. Slowly. It still would have been effective." Erik passed the French toast. "Now, though. Lazy days in bed for the sake of it are very tempting."

Charles agreed with a nod as he took a bite of the toast. "Mmm charcoal." he teased. "You know, I'm sorry I was a bit... out of sorts before. I've been trying to remember my coping mechanisms for all this. It just seemed a bit fresh."

"I'm still halfway back in there." Erik gave a roll of his shoulders. "I think we need to stay... not in the mansion. Because you're reading everything."

To his surprise there was no immediate agreement. "You might be right," he acknowledged. "I was thinking of it as home and it clearly isn't in this reality. And I forget, I don’t seem to be able to ignore that like I used to."

"Gambit mentioned the pool house." Erik cocked his eyebrow at Charles. "As loathe as I am to take a suggestion from him, it might be quieter."

"I remember." Charles sipped his coffee. "I remember he was semi in exile there when he returned from Antarctica. I should have pushed to deal with that situation and right now, I have no idea why I didn't."

"I'm sure there were other pressing concerns." He ate a little of the French toast, deeming it not quite inedible while he took his time chewing. "Or not. If you second guess everything you did, we would be at it until we're dead."

"Nothing that should have been more important. When the cause takes precedent over the people the cause represents, you're doing the whole thing wrong," Charles said with a sigh. "But I kept thinking that the cause was more important than individuals rights. "

"I made the same mistake." He exhaled shakily, taking another sip of coffee. "That those of us who stood with the enemy should die. And that still feels right. I won't be acting on it."

Charles’ hand reached out and stroked over his skin. "Erik, I know now I was responsible for a lot of that by turning you away when you needed me. And I needed you. I don't know why I chose the wrong way before, it seems nonsensical now."

"Expectations, I expect. Also, I've never been easy to get along with." He opened his mind, the action an ingrained habit now and reached out to Charles, just let him settle close there as well. "I'm glad to be here now."

"If I thought they would let us then I would consider leaving immediately," Charles answered settling comfortably in that niche, just as unconsciously as lover would take their partner's hand without thinking. "But I suspect they want to consider if we are a further danger to anyone. It is after all something I taught them."

He laughed, watching Charles's expressions shift. He was trying hard to work out what their next move was, plotting forward a hundred different ways, and Erik reached out and carefully prodded him. "Give it a week or two. You have the house in England. I have safe houses around the world. We can do anything we wish to do. You don't have to fit it into some grand scheme."

"I'm not used to not knowing what to do and it is strange to feel mentally a lot younger than I am," Charles said smiling with a bit of a better humour. He looked younger in the fall sunshine, or perhaps more innocent. Erik wasn't sure if the same applied to him.

On the bright side, he didn't have to look at himself and mostly preferred to admire Charles. "You'll laugh if I say I feel the same mental age I always have."

"I will," Charles said with a smile. "If I say a mental age of twelve what will that give me?"

"Considering my poor impulse control, and that I was already old for twelve, yes. That's not so bad." For a long slow moment, Erik wondered if they were still in the machine, a layer within a layer to placate them, because he'd never had a reality so easy. He didn't particularly care.

Charles leaned over to kiss him with a hint of mischievous amusement as he did so. "Come on, let's finish breakfast and then we can go and tell everyone we're moving out so we can be dirty old men together in the pool house."

* * *

Charles had to admit a sense of satisfaction that his new chair had the ability to make others stretch to keep up if he accelerated down the corridors. Although with any luck it might not be necessary forever; Hank had reported that Erik had manipulated some sort of nanites in order to fix his own back and that research might end up with them trying a treatment on him.

He wasn't holding his breath though, his returning and reintegrating 'real' memory informed him of the many times his paralysis had been cured, and then reversed.

Right now he was taking some pleasure in the thought that if he wanted to outpace Scott, he could probably manage it even if it was very immature to consider running away.

"Charles." Scott's expression was as relaxed as it seemed to get now, which was not very. It had been a month, and Charles felt that, perhaps, they could settle there and not quite need to wall themselves away. Erik settled into repairing things, regardless of where he was, and the Mansion received benefit of his ease with metals as much as Charles's chair had. But they were at a point of deciding whether Charles would or wouldn't take classes and rejoin the school.

And as much as Scott thought it was his decision, it was Charles's.

"Yes?" he replied looking up at the tall young man. He was proud of the way that Scott had stepped up to become a leader but Scott did have his faults same as he did.

Scott had Jean to balance him out, when he listened to her. "I wanted to talk to you. If you have a moment."

"Of course Scott," he replied politely. "In your office or elsewhere?" Was it official, was it more suspicions? He knew he was reaping the rewards of his own behaviour but he was becoming tired of the underlying paranoia.

And of being annoyed every time he rolled into 'Scott's' office.

"I'm just curious if you've decided what you're going to do?" Other than envy's Erik's ease in rebuffing negative opinions of himself.

"I have been considering our options, but have not made a firm decision as yet," he said calmly. "Although I admit that living in the Pool House has its perks, it is not right for a long term arrangement."

For one, come the summer there'd be far too much traffic for him to want to stay there. "Right. Just curious. Magnus seems to be..." Scott's shoulders squared off. "Finding a place here." Not because it was any sign of permanence, though -- that was just what Erik did.

"He does that. Magnus is a survivor, " he said and looked at Scott. "Tell me Scott, does having us around make things difficult for you?"

He heard the answer in Scott's hesitance before he said a word. "It's... yes, it's hard. The students expect that if you're here, you're going to teach them. But I don't know what--" What he could or would or should teach them given everything that had happened. "I can't make you fit."

*You* fit. It was telling that Erik apparently did and perhaps Scott didn't meant to be harsh but there was little Charles could do with the conclusions that their once mortal enemy was more acceptable now than he was. It was a sharp pang to feel and he had had enough of it.

"Then I will not. I believe you have made the decision for us. There is no necessity for me to be here. You have more telepaths than we have ever had before, it is not like my skill set is of paramount importance any more," he said a little sharply.

"I meant as a leader, Charles, and you know it. I've never seen you show up and not just... take control." Take control from him, from Storm, from the other leaders who were sharing the mantle at the school in his wake, yes.

"I have different concerns now," he replied. He had Erik, Erik to care for, to balance, to channel and leadership was nowhere near as attractive as partnership. "I don't want to lead the X-men, or the school. If there is one thing this has proven is that you are more than capable of leading yourself."

"Then, stay." Scott didn't seemed to get the problem. "Stay, teach a class or two. We need the help, and you were an amazing teacher."

"Scott, it is... difficult for me, for any telepath or empath to stay where they are treated with suspicion. I enjoy teaching yes, I would love to teach again, but most of the adults including yourself seem to feel that I will be... how did Logan put it? 'up to my old tricks' before the year is out. " Charles gave a wry smile. "The vote of confidence in my character has been underwhelming particularly when viewed in comparison to the misdeeds of others."

It was particularly telling when he felt Scott think of *Erik's* numerous misdeeds before anyone else who worked at the school. "I think if you give it time, that will change."

"If we teach here, we will not live here," Charles said having made up his mind about that at least. "Perhaps that might convince you Scott. I want a life I once denied myself. I believe I am entitled to try it now."

He looked a little at a loss, but nodded. "Sure. It's probably *safer* living off campus, the way things have been."

"Then we will look somewhere more permanent tomorrow. If we don't find somewhere, I'm sure Erik will feel the need to build something. He does like creating things," Charles replied. "Was there anything else Scott?"

“No. Just... let me know what classes you're most interested in taking on." As short handed as they were from activity most days, Charles was sure that he could end up with a very full class load in no time at all.

"I'll make a list," Charles promised, feeling a huge sense of relief at having finally made a decision. He didn't want to let go completely but this had been difficult. "I believe I should go discuss this with Erik. If you will excuse me.”

"Right. I'll see you around, then." Around, yes. Not in the house, which would almost be a relief for them all. Having privacy, particularly after having been accustomed to it, was all the more precious when lost.

As his chair glided serenely along as he took his leave, Charles smiled to himself, almost ebullient at the prospect of really living together with Erik and not having to share him. Perhaps it was selfish, but he was coming to the conclusion if he had been a little more selfish back then, then things would have been different now.

 _Erik, are you at the Pool House?_

 _Yes. I was checking the wiring._ There was a sensation of the buzzing hum of electrical energy, the way Erik saw the world when he flipped that particular mental switch. It still felt like something Charles wanted to reach out and pluck, but better sense kept him restrained because the results had never been good.

 _Mm, good. I'm on my way back. I've just spoken with Scott,_ he said allowing some of his improved mood to leak across the link.

 _You came to a decision, then._ Not whether it was for or against staying, just that he'd decided. It was a palpable relief on Erik's side that he'd picked one. And perhaps a little hope that it was still something to do with the school.

 _Yes, but obviously I want to discuss it with you Erik,_ he said as he started across the grounds to the Pool House. _I want to be sure I am not making decisions you will hate._

He could see the lights on, though the blinds were partially drawn. There was too much glass in the building to ever use it permanently, too on-display. _Hate's a very strong word, but I appreciate it._

 _I don't expect you to agree with everything I suggest Erik. Disagreeing is fun too,_ he promised. He glided down the path, making it into the Pool House. "I see the lights are working so you must have fixed the electrics."

"Mmm? Yes. I keep wanting to block up one wall. After so many years on the run, I still catch myself thinking in terms of defensibility." He settled down onto the sofa, sprawling comfortably. Erik looked much better in dirty pants and a shirt with the sleeves rolled up than he ever had in whatever spandex and metal alloy creation of the day.

"We don't need to be on the run anymore," Charles said. "So I talked to Scott and ...well, if you are in agreement I thought we could find somewhere to live off campus and then do some teaching here."

"Yes." He sat forward, watching Charles and half stirred to intervene, to move. To not set up camp for the evening in the living room with its wall of windows. "I could be content here. If we do need to leave, we'll know."

"I thought it would be good to have our own place Erik. Just for us." Charles touched his mind gently to see Erik's response.

The words were easy, but it was the feelings under it that were harder to work out, and more important. Erik was thinking about a bedroom that didn't exist, and certainly wasn't the one they were sharing now, about Charles's old dorm room. "Some place that's just ours."

"As defensible as you want, and probably with sound proofing," Charles said with a slight smile. He realised he was looking forwards to being able to indulge in privacy with Erik. Lazy mornings, watching TV together if he could ever get Erik to relax, cooking themselves rather than having it brought to him. He wanted to have a Christmas with Erik, their own home to retreat to and to allow him to create great things and to teach others.

"At least you didn't suggest we make Latkes," Erik drawled, standing up, but just to crouch down on level with Charles beside his chair. "We can start looking in the morning, then. I can scare the real estate agents for you."

"Mm. You do want this Erik don't you?" He asked needing to hear the affirmation.

"Yes. I want this, and I want you to stop feeling like you're going to fall apart or punch something. I want you to enjoy yourself." He slid a thumb over Charles's hand, and then leaned in to kiss him.

"Oh well then, if you want me to enjoy myself..." Charles murmured and kissed him back _Why don't we celebrate my rediscovery of decision making mm?_

He liked the way Erik's laugh vibrated against his lips, Erik's half-closed eyes, the rush of warm feeling as Erik shifted, made it easy for Charles to slide an arm over his shoulders, inviting him to. "Let me carry you to bed. Yes, I know you're perfectly capable."

"Sometimes I like it when you carry me, but don't tell anyone," Charles said slipping his arm comfortably into that position. "It would ruin my independent image."

 _Sometimes I just want to lay in bed and argue with you about books._ Erik paused a moment, made sure he had a good position, and then lifted Charles up while he stood. "I don't think I've had time to just read in years. To build for the sake of it."

 _Well we could forgo the mindblowing sex - and when you have sex with a telepath that can be literal - and do that instead,_ Charles suggested amused at the thought.

Erik briefly, pointedly, imagined the bed covered with books, and Charles peering over a pile of them, and then shook the idea off. "It can wait until morning. Though you always did have a very sharp imagination."

"Mmm, yes, I do and it means we can do things that other people can only imagine, and some they cannot," Charles said sending a fleeting impression of kisses flickering over Erik's skin as encouragement.

"There's still something very grounding in just feeling you." He turned the lights on with a thought, tripped a circuit again so none of the lightswitches ever worked they way they were labelled, and carefully set Charles on the bed. The extra pillows Charles was accustomed to using were already there.

"Mm, yes." He lounged there, wishing briefly that he could move but settling for being thankful he at least had sensation there and control. "Feel away Erik."

Predictably, Erik went for his shirt buttons first, one knee on the bed while he tried to work his shoes off without using his hands. "How many people in the house have been contemplating what you must look like all buttoned down? I'm sure they've imagined things we've never actually tried."

"Oh they have," Charles smiled. "Unfortunately, Gambit keeps his mind closed otherwise he would be an excellent source of inspiration I suspect. Others though are surprisingly kinky. Should I tell you about the one where you use metal ...a great deal. Repetitively in fact."

Erik's fingers were inside of his shirt, while he leaned in to kiss the side of his neck. Slow, lingering, lazy, and it wasn't always but it was one of the best ways, in Charles's opinion. There were nights for more, rougher, harder, but Erik was struggling with his internal balance and taking his time helped. He was still a bit sideways from the system they'd been jacked into, from the prison that wasn't, and reluctant to work with Charles on it. "I could cuff and bind you in new ways. But then you wouldn't be able to reciprocate."

"Not that I don't enjoy that Erik, but actually it was of the more penetrative type," he replied responding by moving until he felt Erik's response signal perfect. "Frankly I was shocked at Storm."

It was teasing, but also with a hint of truth.

It gained him a rough laugh, and Erik kissed, nipped at his collarbone, laving the spot afterwards with his tongue. "I should maybe forget I ever asked that question."

God, Charles loved Erik's hair. It was surprisingly fine, not as coarse to the touch as the wildness of it indicated. His fingers combed through it and memories from both lives filled him with a warm glowing contentment. "Oh, I think I'll hold on to it. I think it could be very erotic," Charles teased again.

"With enough privacy." Which would inspire Erik to put up with things like real estate agents, yes, because as long as they were on the grounds they always risked someone interrupting. _That's a cheating way to get me to agree to play nice,_ Erik thought fondly, pulling at Charles's shirt until he'd pulled his arms out of it and it was laying on the floor.

 _I thought so,_ Charles agreed a little smugly. _Remind me to show it to you another time _. Kissing Erik was always rewarding. He liked to relax into it as if they could mould their bodies together somehow, make him feel again.__

 _Rather than bounce at the same thought, Erik pushed out the idea of Charles naked underneath of him, groaning, while he started to unbutton Charles's belt. That Erik never even considered his legs, positive or negatively, was almost endearing._

 _He took the hint, and made it easy to get the clothes off, to show his own pale skin. "For you Erik, anything," he murmured kissing him back._

 _"I should return the favour." Erik leaned back, pulling his shirt off with little fuss. And then he was leaning into Charles again, kissing him with a hint of desperation under the intent._

 _He let his thoughts curl around the desperation, soothing him with reassurance. "In this body, it will be some time since I last did this," he murmured._

 _There was a flicker of thoughts, Erik playing through the last few months. The last month of just the two of them in the pool house, resting and lazing and touching without much intent, the world that hadn't been, the world that had been, Erik in a wheelchair, plotting what to do next, what to, and the years before that, all cascading for a moment before Erik kissed the edge of his cheek bone. "We can try the other way."_

 _"And what way would that be Erik?" he said with a smile and then stroked down his back, smoothing his skin and feeling scars._

 _Proof that he was alive, the vibrant texture and strange smoothness in places. "Me, riding you." And Erik's mental picture of it was oddly realistic, reassuring for that, steadying Charles while he moved himself up and down on Charles' cock. "I want you to feel as much as you can."_

 _"Well, now," Charles contemplated. "That seems an interesting way to go." He would feel that and get to see Erik while he was moving as well. "Let's see how that goes."_

 _"You say 'way to go' like one of us will die doing it. I seem to remember we used to accomplish a lot in smaller places." Before age and sore knees and back problems, yes, but Erik was grinning as he stood up for a second, sliding his pants off before kneeling over Charles's hips, close and kissing him again just for the contact of skin on skin and another's warmth._

 _He could fell the heaviness of Erik’s balls resting on his skin, and smiled when he considered he could reach his cock with his hand. This might be a longer one, slow and easy._

 _Erik had done plenty of exploring over the parts and lines where Charles's sensation faded away to nothing, and the nerve rich areas above it that felt so good, and he was letting fingers linger over one of those sensitive patches, smiling ._

 _"Mmm, you are enjoying this," he said looking up at him. He was beautiful like this, looking happy, wearing his powers comfortably. He wanted to enjoy it too, and knew Erik would make that happen._

 _After all, Erik still didn't have room for melancholy in sex. "Absolutely." _I have you here. Actually here. Unless we're still in the machine, in which case I don't want to know._ He leaned down to kiss Charles again, leaving comfortable touches in his wake, fingers lingering at his nipples, the sides of his chest. A quick bite to the lobe of his ear made Charles arch, hands clinging to Erik's back._

"Oh God Erik..." This had to be real, it was real he knew it now in the way that waking from a dream made it obvious things were a dream. _You look... beautiful. Handsome... like some sort of wild angel._

He laughed, rough in Charles's ear, and all he could see was a flyaway strand of white hair while Erik palmed one of Charles's shoulder blades, and kissed the junction between his neck and shoulder. "Do I get a fiery sword?"

"I can only hope," Charles replied with chuckle himself, reaching between them with one hand. "Oh, I think I've found it."

 _Bad pun._ He arched into Charles's hand, though, and Charles felt when Erik leaned on one elbow, sliding a hand down to stroke fingers teasingly at the base of Charles's cock.

He was grateful he could feel that, not the perfect sensation of before, but enough. But to a telepath it was easy enough to ride the sensation of mind to mind sex. He never lacked in that respect.

"Very bad," he agreed and half lidded his eyes for a moment as he thought about the fact that he had willingly done without this most of his life.

How utterly stupid of him.

Erik was shifting, sliding down, kissing a line down Charles's stomach, because he could, because he enjoyed how Charles's skin felt and got off on lavishing attention as much as he got off on receiving it.

Charles had the advantage of being able to share how good it felt, but he liked to not just reflect the sensation but to craft his own. Erik was luxuriating in his ability to do this, and Charles could feel the amazement lingering that he got to have this too. He sent the impression of hands sliding over Erik's ass even as he toyed with his hair again. There was no position where Erik could go that he couldn’t touch him for all his own paralysis.

Nothing was out of his ability, and Erik enjoyed Charles pulling that trick off, luxuriated in the sensation of drifting fingertips teasing, tracing the edge of his asshole but not quite. Just teasing, just pleasure, enough to make Erik groan against Charles's stomach.

He didn't have to ask if Erik liked it, he knew. Erik was eclectic in his sexual tastes and Charles had the advantage of knowing what was turning his partner on when they experimented, and reciprocated by leaving the link open if he was the recipient. In theory, his paralysis meant he should be the more passive partner, but in reality he could mentally make love to Erik in all manner of ways that felt like months if he wanted to. Right now though he wanted more touch on his own skin even as he gave Erik the sensations of something rubbing a little more insistently at his ass.

"Fuck." Erik laughed out a huff, sitting up a little more and sliding his hands over Charles's waist. "You're maddening."

"Think of it as gentle encouragement," he replied with a smirk. "I'm not fragile Erik, not really." He wanted Erik's pleasure to sweep over him slow or fast and think he was responsible for that feeling.

"No? Not really?" Erik gave up on licking, and gave Charles's cock a slow suck instead, trying to dredge up a reaction from him.

It worked, and he groaned at the sensation. "Not anymore." Erik was a definite tease especially when he knew he couldn't move. _Keep doing that and you might just break my control._

 _Is that a promise, or a threat?_ Charles wasn't surprised when Erik pulled off with a wet noise, and then engulfed him again.

 _Fuck Erik!_ He was rarely moved to expletives, even in his thoughts but Erik managed it sometimes. He seemed to know just how long to apply suction, the motion, the strength to hit every working nerve.

He gave a humming noise. Charles felt when Erik stretched a little, trying to work the kinks out of his shoulders, trying to force himself to relax before he embarked on what he'd planned.

He amused himself with the memories he sent to Erik of massaging his stiff muscles. It often worked as the body reacted to the thoughts almost as much as the real kneading of flesh and skin. Erik in this mood wouldn't be hurried.

The feeling of Charles's fingers luxuriating through his hair was quite satisfying -- the memories of sensation was almost as good, and he could feel that while Erik continued to tease him with his mouth, his hands still caressing the lines of sensation.

Lying there, with Erik taking his time sent Charles into a near trance of pleasure that he transmitted to Erik. They could stay like this forever, suspended in that golden, honey slow build towards sex and arousal.

He felt drifting memories, tangling up with the reality, rooted in the reality, as Erik gave up sucking him off, and started to kiss his way up Charles's body, kissing his mouth and letting Charles give the slow, languid response that felt best just then. Past that was real and past that wasn't real, while Erik called the lubricant over to the bed. Staples punched in the crimped end of the tube was such an easy solution.

It amused Charles how practical Erik could be about these things. He had no doubt that Erik would have found a way to walk using his powers after his injury. Telepathy was powerful in one way, but physically, he was literally crippled.

 _You lube me, you'll feel it_ he said as half a threat and half a promise.

 _Are you trying to kill me with sensation?_ Erik opened the lube, and started to take his time slicking it over Charles's cock, still leaning over him. "Hhn. "

 _Obviously,_ Charles teased, feeling the cool slickness clearly enough, and transferring the sensation. _It is my evil plan._

"I like it," Erik sighed, pulling back far enough to tilt his head down, kissing Charles's chin. His hands were wandering Erik's back, and Erik liked that immensely, almost as much as stroking Charles's dick. "It's not bad for an evil plan."

"I think that's as evil as I get nowadays," Charles replied kissing him back. Sometimes he did have the urge to be the active one in sex.

Erik scoffed a little, picking up on the drifting thought. "So be the active one. Your legs aren't a limiting factor. Just..." Erik moved, shifted up onto his knees better, and slicked two fingers. "Give me a moment."

He had let that leak over with his thoughts obviously. He was nowhere near as disciplined with his boundaries with Erik as he was with the rest of the world. He would show him active, and given half a chance he would have done that for Erik.

He stole the lube from Erik and smiled. "I can tell this is going to be a hardship for you," he murmured as he slicked his fingers and then reached to feel his way, using Erik's sensations in his mind as a guide.

He could have just relied on touch and sound, but he'd never. Never done it that way with Erik. It had always been close and intimate, and Erik holding still for a moment, before he exhaled at the touch. "Much better. Much better than dreams."

Realer, not as smoothed around the edges as the mind often created imagined things. He could feel Erik's reaction as he inserted his fingers into his ass, sliding them in carefully, and out, working and stretching him. He was anticipating more but every time relishing the slow burn.

Riding it, rocking his hips back and forth to it. Charles didn't have to add any flourishes, wanted to let Erik concentrate on the realness, after what had happened in the simulation at the end.

He wanted to purge those memories, but not through using his powers, but with something real and satisfying to take its place. Erik was strong, muscular having rebuilt his muscle mass and his expression as he move his fingers inside of him was wonderful to behold. Here was one of the strongest mutants in the world and yet he could come unravelled and relax through this.

 _It's amazing how effective it is when someone knows what they're doing._ He spread a hand over Charles's chest, tweaking his right nipple slowly.

The sensation was like fire spreading slowly over his chest and he opened up that area of his mind that belonged to Erik so he could feel what he was doing to him. Charles knew he liked that sort of sensation, it made him feel alive somehow, grounded in his body and he needed that sometimes.

Charles was more than happy to help by sharing. The overlapping sensations spread, ebbed and washed over them both until Erik was shaking, his cock jutting out hard. "Too close."

Charles pulled his fingers out, riding Erik's arousal as well, making him hard in response. It was easy to be a generous lover when you could feel it too. "You'll be ready for me in a moment, " he suggested. _Kiss me._

The press of lips against his, Erik bowed over him as close as he could get with Charles leaked up, felt good. Satisfying, comfortable. Erik groaned when he kissed him back, one hand sliding along Charles’s jaw.

 _You are wonderful, gorgeous,_ he mentally murmured as they kissed, lips still soft and warm and completely responsive. _I want to be in you, I want you to move on me, I want...you._

 _You have me._ For now, for then, yes, and he'd take it, savour it. Erik shifted back, stroking Charles's cock. Lowering himself took time, slow steady movement that Charles could feel. The head of his cock pressing against warm slicked skin and then in, but he could feel it the other way, being breached slowly, savouring the faint burn and stretch.

 _Best of both worlds,_ he managed feeling it, absorbing it. This was something he had chosen for them both. Erik's happiness, his happiness together. He loved him, he wanted him and no one had touched him like this in either his real or remembered life except Erik. He moved carefully, using the muscles he could to flex his hips, and stroking with his hands over muscles and skin.

Erik took his time, and Charles saw when he was all the way down, a sharp grin on his face while he started to rock back up, irregularly. Charles felt the shift of muscles under his fingertips, and Erik's laugh. "Literally."

Charles chuckled a little back. "Yes indeed. " It felt fantastic and Erik was sharp and bright in his mind, enlivened and exciting. "Mm. Have I ever told you, you are the most handsome man in the world?"

There was a briefly panting exhale, while Erik worked himself back down on Charles's cock. "Pfft, you have a bias." A bias that was welcome, though.

"That's because I know you," Charles said and breathed. "I want you. Move Erik, please, move on me."

It wasn't a command, but it worked like one. Erik started to rock, up and down, thighs flexing smoothly, his cock bobbing temptingly. Charles leaned forward, sliding fingers along the underside lightly.

He liked to tease, and if he could, he would have bent over to suck him, but his fingers were slick enough still to provide a teasing handjob. Erik felt happy, in control but liking doing what he wanted as well. There was a complex tangle of instinct and reasoning there. He didn't like to be powerless but there was a security in making him happy. Charles tried to let him know wordlessly he would always be secure and happy with him. That his priorities had changed and he would always choose Erik.

Not the least reason being the fact that the sex was amazing.

"Uhmph, if you don't stop teasing you might regret that..." Erik was fucking himself onto Charles a little faster, and a little faster the next time, moving towards orgasm and dragging Charles with him.

Charles decided to just let himself go, to enjoy the feelings and embracing Erik. It was like his mind was unfolding again, uncurling from where it had been protecting itself. It burst over them both as they rose towards orgasm together, the slick movement, the thrust, the effort and the reward.

He wasn't sure if the reward was the orgasm, that stretched out and out, echoing between them even when Erik shifted, moved off of him and stretched out beside him, a hand settled lazy on his chest. Or if the reward was that Erik was there, with that half-smug grin on his face, and the overlapping tendrils of connection that Charles couldn’t' seem to and didn't want to shake.

"You like the smug grin."

"I do," Charles said with a lazy smile. He loved Erik, couldn't live without him, never wanted to try. It was with some level of surprise, he realise that he hadn't said the words aloud in this reality, and he had the sudden feeling he should say the words. "Erik, I love you," he murmured aloud.

He felt Erik's fingers drum on his chest, once, lightly. "I love you, and your clichéd sense of timing." And his eyes, which was a funny thing to think, except it was Erik's thought, and a memory of Charles when he settled into a booth across from him back in Oxford. Angry at everything, and alone and very intent on getting smashing drunk, and Charles pushed it all back by being annoyingly intrusive.

Over and over. He never should have stopped, was what it came down to.

He accepted that responsibility because doing so gave him Erik and gave him to Erik. "Mmm, there's always a place for an appropriate cliché," he teased pulling Erik down to lay half on top of him. "Perhaps we should work on reliving certain successful memories in reality one by one."

 _If you do that Professor,_ Jean's voice sounded in their minds, _Can I remind you to get some shielding now you seem to be back to full power before we have an impromptu whole school sex Ed class again?_

Erik laughed, and rolled partially onto his back again. And he *kept* laughing. _Now that we've made it good and properly awkward!_

Charles started laughing as well, unable to stop. "Well, as we've obviously started our teaching jobs early, how about we make it a lesson they'll never forget?" he suggested in between undignified laughter. He apologised to Jean but he wasn't really that sorry. If they had felt that, they would know how he felt about Erik, and now after all these years, that was one secret about himself he wasn't prepared to keep.

One less question to answer while they got back on the road of living their lives. The way they ought to have, the first time.


End file.
